Something He Didn't Have Last Time
by Kasamira
Summary: What if Harry's Cruciatus on Bellatrix worked? What if it worked far better than Harry ever expected it to? What would Dumbledore's reaction be? How would Harry face his friends? Would he see the Light Side for all its flaws? Would he embrace the Dark like his Black heritage compels him to? Is Harry the weapon that Voldemort didn't have last time?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Friendship, like credit, is highest when it is not used. -Elbert Hubbard

Story Info: In my other Harry Potter story Harry is Gray, however in this fanfic Harry is going to be exclusively Dark... there will probably be Dumbledore bashing along with other character bashing such as Ron and Lupin. Sorry if you don't like that but if you don't like, don't read. Voldemort (by my own wishful typing) is going to be (fairly) sane in this fic, (I'll explain why in the story) and Harry is going to go over to the Dark Side.

Summary: What if Harry's Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix worked? What if it worked far better than Harry ever expected it to? What would Dumbledore's reaction be? What would Voldemort's reaction be? How would Harry face his friends? Would he see the Light Side for all its flaws? Would he embrace the Dark like his Black heritage compels him to?

"There's nothing you can do, Harry-"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"it's too late, Harry-"

"We can still reach him-"

"There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... He's gone."

...a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais. Harry saw Kingsley, yelling in pain, hit the ground. Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around.

...deflected it. She was halfway up the steps now-

scrambling up the stone benchest... whipped out of sight... once more he was surrounded by streaks of blue light... sprinted up the passageway... no more footsteps.

She had stopped running.

Instead Bella was laughing, high pitched shrieks that rang off the Atrium's walls like bells.

"Your coming to get me... come out, little Harry." she was using her mocking baby voice again. "Thought you wanted to avenge my dear cousin." the mad witch giggled again and Harry could just hear the smirk in her voice.

She continued in her taunts.

"Why... why did you love him Potter, did you love my filthy blood traitor cousin?"

Cold fury bubbled forth inside of him, nothing like the righteous anger he'd felt before in petty school fights. This was ghostly rage, as a spell bubbled and poured up inside of him, spells he'd never thought of before. Spells he'd only dreamed of in his worst nightmares where he took on Voldemort's form. When Voldemort did terrible things.

"Crucio!" Harry wasn't even aware of a spell leaving his lips, the power to perform such a spell simply welled up inside of him. His holly wand merely channeled it into something more useful than blind power and cold rage.

Bella screamed. She screamed, and she screamed, she screamed so loud it seemed to echo eternally of the polished Atrium floor. Sounding as though her throat was being torn apart, thrashing and writhing upon the Ministry floor, the peacock blue walls above them seemed to shimmer in Harry's vision. Not blinded by anger, by rage- the Gryffindor had never seen more clearly in his life. And to feel the raw magic flowing through his body was a sensation much like the Basilisk venom coursing through his veins three years ago.

He was lost in it. The rush, the overwhelming giddiness of such intense power flooding his veins, but instead of being white hot it was cold. Cold enough for him to see his own breath in the chamber, for goosebumps to have arisen on his skin, cold enough for Harry to be thinking clearly.

Grabbed Bella's wand where it had been lying on the polished floor, looked into the witch's eyes. Darkness stared back at him, dark eyes that gave everything away. Shock, fury, disbelief, fear. But in addition to those emotions they gave away so much more.

Harry thought back to his Legilimency lessons with Snape, how the other man had assaulted his mind countless times. How each attack had felt, and how the Gryffindor had felt in return upon his own invasion upon Snape's memories. That feeling came to him now, and the fifth year was aware of a large ripping noise coming from inside Bellatrix. And finally Harry was able to see what Bellatrix had been thinking, the thoughts that had gone through her mind when Harry had spoken the words.

He could read her like a book, despite what Snape said, her thoughts came to him like words off the pages of the many tomes in the Hogwart's library. The razor sharp reaction time she had, what she'd been planning to say to him after the Cruciatus Curse. How she didn't believe he could ever successfully cast it.

Words-thoughts of hers floated throughout her mind,

"You have to mean them, Potter... you have to really want to cause pain- to enjoy it- I'll show you how it's done... give you a lesson shall I..."

Harry leaned down on the floor next to her, leaned over Bella's prone form on the icy Ministry tiles, the witch's body was still being racked by painful tremors.

"Your right Bella... you do have to mean them... to want to cause pain- to... enjoy it." voice soft the Gryffindor caressed his wand down her face, his mockingly gentle words causing white puffs of to come from his mouth.

Showed Bella her wand, as the tremors of the curse finally began to leave her body. ran a gentle hand over the hemlock wood, feeling the wand practically vibrate in his hand. LIke it just knew what he was about to do, Lestrange's eyes followed his every move.

Harry snapped it.

Bella screamed. The black witch shrieked and screamed and wailed at her broken wand. Horrified choked gasps coming from her mouth, buffets of air swelling out of her mouth and producing massive clouds of white in the air. The witch yowled, clutching at her hair as though he'd killed her child. Then launched herself at him, long yellow fingernails curled into claws, as though she intended to scratch his eyes out with them.

Bella didn't get the chance, his next spell had the witch forced up against the fountains side. Her back pressed sharply against the frozen stone, the water inside the fountain had stopped flowing, ice had frozen it over.

Bella's eyes scrabbled over him frantically, searching for an escape that wasn't coming, an weakness in Harry's defense that wasn't there.

Harry cursed her. He didn't bother with any foolish wandwaving attempts or even the true meaning of the spell. He let intent feed his magic, channeled it forcefully through his wand.

"Aquagamenti..." speaking softly, there was no neeo shout, they had plenty of time. It was closer to midnight than to morning and the Ministry would be empty and vacant for at least half a dozen more hours.

Bellatrix's eyes which had widened frightfully when he's brandished his want towards her had relaxed at the intonation of his intended spell. That mocking glint returning briefly into the former Slytherin's dark eyes. It didn't stay long.

Harry's intent fed the spell, and instead of Bella being doused in water the witch suddenly gasped. Choked deep in her chest, her mouth working furiously, eyes growing as wide as a House elf's. A low gurgling noise came from her chest, and she began to choke silently. Large gasping breaths coming from her abdomen, the woman clutched at her throat, unable to perceive what was happening. Until water began to trickle from her mouth, slowly at first, and then faster coming in streams until the liquid was pouring out of her mouth and tears rolling down Bella's cheeks.

To Harry's utter disappointment Bella didn't last long. Fall unconscious quickly, a quick Enervate brought her back. Brought the life back into her dark eyes, life Harry was fully ready to extinguish.

"Such a simple spell Bella, we both learned it in our second year if I recall correctly. Such a simple spell... but with such useful means." Harry smiled cruelly.

Bellatrix was still coughing and gagging though, out of sheer annoyance Harry whispered a soft, "Anapneo," to clear her airways of any residual water. The result was the Lestrange witch spitting water like a fount, and dry heaving into the fountion. The liquid, upon contact with the frozen water jerked once, and then crystalized. Becoming shards of ice, shards of ice that were being torn from Bellatrix's mouth in small ripping noises.

Harry waited patiently, he could afford to be patient now.

And when Bella finally turned back toward him he hit her with two jinxes in rapid succession, one of them was perfectly harmless, the Stickfast Hex, and the second was an Enlarging Charm.

"Colloshoo... Augeo!"

The first stuck Bella fastly to the stone fountains rim so Harry was able to stop pushing her against it with the continuous use of another charm. The second charm was once again shaped for his own purposes, an enlargement charm, directed to her hand.

Her hand, which Harry delicately grasped in his own. Tracing her fingernails with the tip of his holly wand, watching detachedly as the spell took effect. However instead of enlarging the length of her nails forwards, they went backwards. The keratin nails shoving themselves backwards and into the flesh of Bella's hand, lengthening inside the witch's skin. Causing ripples to emerge on the top side of her fingers as the skin stretched upwards and muscle ripped inwards to make new room available for her own body's invasion.

Harry tucked her hand back down to her side, and lit his wand with a simple Lumos Solem, directed his wand once again, concentrating to slow the flow of energy to his wand. To make the spell smaller, narrower, less overwhelming and wide. Harry wanted it as strong as steel but as small as a Muggle needle's head.

It was a useful little spell, one that captured sunlight, and directed it to the wizard's own uses. The black robe's arm sleeve split, along with the thin long sleeve shirt under it, exposing the witch's arm to the freezing air that pervaded the Atrium.

The Hogwart's student directed his wand towards Bella's arm, the following shrieks informed him that he'd met his target as the skin on the former Black witch's arm began to sizzle and burn.

Small shallow incisions appeared on her skin, nothing that couldn't be healed by a quick Episkey, but Harry knew enough about human physiology from Hermione to know the more continuous pain he caused the quicker Bella's body would shut down to protect itself from the pain. So he kept his cuts shallow and quick, pausing every now and then to let make sure the burning was having the maximum effect. Random patterns drawn in her skin, he wanted to carve Sirius Black into her arm, so the witch would know forever why he was doing this.

But he didn't, Sirius didn't deserve to have his name defiled in that way, for his name's letters to be carved into her arm like that precious Dark Mark that Harry could feel pulsing beneath her left robe's sleeve.

Behind him someone began clapping.

Slow, loud claps that echoed off of the peacock blue walls of the Atrium, reverberating throughout the empty room. Harry released the spell he'd been holding Bellatrix under, and turned around slowly, wand held harmlessly at his side. He felt oddly calm, his head was devoid of pain despite being in Voldemort's presence. The only thing he sensed from the other man was surprise... and a disturbing amount of delight.

Voldemort was different from what he remembered, he was still tall, tall with pitless red eyes that pierced Harry to his core. But instead of the x-ray effect Dumbledore's blue eyes had on him Voldemort's cold red eyes gave him the feeling of being pierced by a red hot poker through his chest, piercing him to his core, with Legilimency Harry knew he wouldn't stand a chance. He'd be devoured whole.

The Dark Lord's most shocking change now appeared before him, he had hair, hair and a nose. Moreover Riddle had a face, a face other than the snake-like one Harry'd been expecting. The one that had come out of the cauldron nearly a year ago on that horrifying night. Gone was gaunt ghostly white face, and the snake-like slits he had for eyes. No more was the skeletally thin form, it had been replaced with a profile that more resembled an older version Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets. The nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils had been replaced with an aquiline nose. Even his voice had changed, no longer was it high and piercing, now it was a lower more mature version of Tom Riddle's. If one compared it to voice ranges previously Voldemort had been a soprano and was now a bass.

The only thing that remained unchanged about Voldemort's appearance were his hands, they still contained unnaturally long fingers, fingers that would make playing piano a dream.

Slowly feeling began to flood back through his veins, feelings other than that detached coldness he'd been feeling at the end with Bellatrix, not even the sense of cold retribution Harry'd felt in the beginning when chasing after the witch.

"Harry Potter... quite a position you've gotten yourself into."

Harry took a deep steadying breath, as a tinge of fear made his hand want to twitch towards his wand.

"Hello, Tom. I didn't expect you to come in person." he tried not to deliberately antagonize the man, other than refusing to call him by his chosen name. Thankfully Voldemort chose not to comment.

"Have you been having fun with Bella? She's quite amusing to be around."

"You interrupted, that was impolite."

"Dear Harry, you were torturing my servant, who was being impolite?" Voldemort raised a single black eyebrow, but his eyes were amused not wrathful.

"You don't think she deserved it?"

Riddle laughed, it wasn't that cold high laugh Harry had heard a year ago in the graveyard, it was rich like dark chocolate however the laugh still sent a shiver down the Gryffindor's spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

"Oh, Harry it bears no doubt in my mind that she deserved it... I'm merely surprised you mastered Bella at her own game... not many do that."

This had to be the strangest conversation he'd ever had in his life...

"You should never underestimate what others are capable of."

Riddle looked like he might laugh again, "Yes, however you've displayed before me a certain... creativity that many of my followers..." his eyes went to Bella, "lack."

"Yeah, the Cruciatus gets old fast. What's the point in causing such large amount of pain when soon after the object of the curse will start to loose feeling in their limbs. So then the idea of causing pain is redundant, it's just a stimulation of nerves and the brain's chemistry reacting. If the curse's subject is unable to feel the spell's effects what is the point of the repeated application of the curse."

At some point after that out loud contemplation Harry became aware that Voldemort was staring, not just staring but at the point of outright gawking at him. Looking at the fifth year Gryffindor as is he'd never seen something so shocking.

Harry Potter, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Leader of the Golden Trio, Boy-Who-Lived, Defeater of Voldemort, Head of the Noble House of Potter, and now Head of the Ancient Most Noble House of Black was discussing the benefits of using the Cruciatus curse on another, not theoretically but from practical application when he'd cast the curse on another. And using inductive reasoning and a cause and effect viewpoint to think about the advantages and disadvantages of an illegal curse.

Bella had killed his godfather. He'd wanted revenge. All so simple motives but with such a delicious outcome that he couldn't have planned it better himself.

The Potter boy was deliciously broken, crumpled like a Muggle tin can, destroyed from his Godfather's death.

But not completely obliterated, Voldemort thought observing the Gryffindor speculatively. The boy still had his merits, and now, now the boy knew the prophecy. The Dark Lord was anything but naive, however Bella killing Black could have been the best form of attack yet upon Potter.

Still the boy was waiting for a response, "Many of your housemates... and Dumbledore," here Voldemort's lip curled obscenely, "may not agree with that assessment."

The boy looked up at him, disbelief mixed with contempt marred his features, and utter disgust flashed through his blazing green eyes.

"Dumbledore... the same man who refused to make me privy to the very fact that there was a prophecy, a prophecy which not only included me, but you... Lord Voldemort as well."

Here the boy paused, gazing steadily at him, a burning anger was glowing in his Avada Kedavra green eyes.

"What did the prophecy say?"

Neither was sure who had uttered the question, but it was said, and it echoed like shards of glass around the Ministry's peacock blue halls.

They were interrupted.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom," Dumbledore had appeared out of nowhere, "the Aurors are on their way."

Not a single word escaped the Dark Lord, the man didn't even direct a glance toward Dumbledore. Riddle's eyes were directed at Harry, his red eyes burned him, and Harry felt the Slytherin inside of him, in his head trolling through his mind and leaving an imprint inside of him.

A message.

Then he was gone, extinguished from the Gryffindor's mind like a candle's flame that had been snuffed out. Voldemort's presence in his mind had been strange, not painful, not agonizing as he'd come to expect from the multitude of dreams and visions over the past two years. Instead the Dark Lord's presence had been... calming, like the man had given him a mental embrace. The sensation of someone running their hand through his hair, not painful at all.

It had lasted less than five seconds, but already, along with Voldemort's mental presence his physical presence had disappeared as well.

Voldemort had gone and along with him went the Ministry's wards, wards that felt just as ancient as the ones on the Hogwart's grounds. These were the wards which had protected the Ministry from any physical and forceful invasion for over a millenia. Gone in a manner of seconds. The ancient wards left ravaged in his wake, like strips of torn clothing left to scatter in the breeze.

The breaking of the wards, the arrival of the Aurors, and the Death Eaters appearing by the dozens. For every one of the Ministry's appearing there were three of Voldemort's hitting town right next to them.

Voldemort's second debut into the Wizarding World happened in at three o'clock in the morning, this re entry into the world of magic was accompanied by calls for reinforcements on the Ministry's side and the slaughtering of over seventy-five witches and wizards. The wizarding world had too small a population for Voldemort to even consider staging large raids across Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. The Dark Lord wanted to purify the magical world, not commit genocide. There would be deaths, but none of them unwarranted for the cause.

So it was on that June night in nineteen ninety-six at three o'clock exactly in the Atrium of the Ministry that Voldemort took over. It wasn't an especially large battle, this was more of a symbolic move. The sacrifice of a few pawns on the Dark Lord's part for the white queen. The Light Side's players were crippled.

The Ministry had fallen.

The Dark Lord's reign had begun.

All Hail the Dark Lord.

AN- Should this be a one shot? When I wrote it that wasn't really my intention but what do you guys think. So on another topic as promised in my A Better Life fic a Dark Harry fanfic. Please do enjoy my lovely Lords and Ladies and do remember to review with any comments that you have, and of course check out my A Better Life Harry Potter fic.

Much love,

Your friend in time (has anyone gotten that yet?)

*Kasamira


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No... no... nononononononononononononononono! Why... why my viewers would I ever choose to own the Rowling Harry Potter books? Nothing is at allllllllllllllllllll right in them. There's no Dark Harry, no Character Bashing *cough Dumbles cough*, Draco and Harry aren't friends, Nagini isn't Harry's foster mother (yes I have read that one), Voldy hasn't renamed Harry as his heir and only beloved child! But most of all... its those WEASLEYS! Those Weasley's questioning every move HE makes, comparing him to bodily functions, why its simply vile! And I ask you... WHY WOULD I WISH TO OWN SUCH A THING!

To my lovely Lords and Ladies of the Manor, please enjoy the latest requisite to my collection, may yours every grow larger and stronger,

May the odds ever be in your favor,

*Kasamira

Dumbledore's office was silent.

The portraits which copiously littered the walls were snoring loudly in their antique frames, and Fawkes looking as regal as ever was posing quietly on his perch. When Harry sank into the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk Fawkes had instantly perched himself on the Gryffindor's leg, it was small comfort, but it was a show of support... one Harry would not likely be receiving from any other being.

Dumbledore wasn't looking at him, as the 5th year stroked Fawkes magnificent red plumage. Still after an entire year of ignoring him, still not able to look him in the eyes. Like he was a child, never mind his age Harry had never been treated like a child for a day in his life by anyone other than Molly Weasley. Even then he hadn't particularly enjoyed being smothered constantly, and decisions being made for him.

Dumbledore was treating him like a child in the worst possible way. Doing things for "his own good" without consulting the boy he was supposed to be protecting, not even giving Harry the time of day for nearly a year. A year when Harry had needed it most, a year when he was going through the aftereffects of Cedric's death, Voldemort's rebirth, his friends, his schoolmates, and the entire wizarding world turning against him. In a single school year he'd been tortured by a teacher for months, and under threat of Cruciatus he'd turned to Snape... Snape! of all people on this planet Severus Snape had been his best choice to turn to for help.

"Desperation," Harry considered wryly, "will make people do the extraordinary... and not necessarily in a good way"

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore finally spoke, "you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."

Other than a small tightening of Harry's hand in Fawkes plumage the Gryffindor gave no other indication of hearing a word the Headmaster had spoken.

"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," Dumbledore continued on blithely, " Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's, but it seems that she will make a full recovery."

Avoiding the subject. And then, finally... Dumbledore said the words he was dreading.

"I know how you are feeling, Harry."

Not a word escaped the teen, not a single word of the icy rage he was still feeling, the boy couldn't even look at the man before him. Just focused on the phoenix on his lap. Breathing softly, in... and out... in... and out, counting each inhalation and exhalation in turn, Muggles said you should count to ten before doing anything rash. Ten counts came and went, and Harry was well on his way to twenty when he spoke again.

"Tonight never should have happened, my boy."

It was those words that did it. The cold fury that had settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach, roiling like one of those awful potions Snape brewed burst forth, bubbling and spewing all over, leaving vitriol in its path.

Finally, he looked in that... that man's eyes. Utterly unaware that the young teen's eyes were glowing a deadly Avada Kedavra green, in that instant the Headmaster's desk ornaments became shattering. They imploded, one by one, as if someone had pulled their feet out from under them, like puppets with their strings cut. Then Sneakoscopes the Lunascopes and various golden and silver instruments were next.

And as he stared into that things blue eyes, Harry once again felt possessed by that blinding ice cold hatred. Like someone had dropped his body off in the arctic without so much as a by your leave, his lips felt frozen as if they couldn't form the words.

"Your right, Headmaster. Tonight NEVER should have happened..." his voice was quiet, barely heard over the rooms stillness. One small corner of his brain observed that the portraits appeared to be frozen.

That same hold was kept over Harry, as if he didn't have full control of his body, but was still very aware of what was occurring around him, and agreed with every step taken.

"Tonight could have been avoided, could have never even been a thought on the horizon of a dream. If you'd perhaps talked to me... at all this year. No! Wait," an ugly sneer twisted his face, "lets forget talking for a moment here! If perhaps... you'd looked at me sometime during the past nine months, then we could have gotten somewhere." instead of shouting, Harry's voice had retreated to a near whisper. But just like Snape controlled his classroom without a raised voice Harry knew he commanded Dumbledore's attention currently, he was practically speaking in Parseltongue with all the control he had left.

Dumbledore interrupted, "My fault? Harry, my dear boy tonight very well could have been avoided had you kept faith-"

This time it was Harry cutting him off, "Faith," he whispered, a hiss almost escaping at the end. "You wish for me to keep... faith" derison entered his voice, "in a person who can't be bothered for ten minutes... ten seconds of time. You wish for me took keep FAITH in a man who has denied an answer to a question I asked nearly four years ago as a first year in the Hospital Wing."

"I had FAITH then," he spat. "Faith in a man like you that got me nowhere. Just an empty head full of questions and no answers, answers that were meant to be too great for my childlike mind to bear. That same mind you supposed that I hold currently, after everything that has happened in these past four years. Basilisks, Riddle, werewolves, Dementors, Pettigrew, the Tournament, dragons, Cedric's murder, being kidnapped by a man that has given me more answers about why he does what he does than you have! Nearly being murdered for Merlin knows what time, being cut open, Crucioed, Imperiused, and attacked by a Death Eater disguised as my teacher, not including anything that's happened all year. After all of this you... expect... me... to trust... you."

At the end Harry's voice had turned from anger, derision, scorn, disbelief, to amazed. Amazed that this man would expect so much from others when he himself had given so little in return. After being repeatedly being thrown to both the literal and proverbial wolves with no explanation for his troubles, Harry had realized that Voldemort had given him more reasons for his need to end his life than Dumbledore had.

His parents had been opponents to Voldemort already, defying him, supporting Dumbledore, threatening the Dark Lord and his followers lives in battle. The prophecy had been the final straw, the final warrant for his parents and his own deaths. It made perfect sense, Harry could almost see it as merciful, killing all three of them instead of just a one year old baby. That way the parents didn't have to live without their child, and the child didn't have to live without its parents.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, as Headmaster of supposedly the safest place on the planet, as the title holder of Head of the Wizengamot, Chief Mugwump, Defeater of Grindelwald, and holder of a googolplex of middle names was unable to keep his students safe in the school he'd been charged with. It was child abuse at the worst and neglect at the least, in the Muggle world the man would have been sacked as incompetent. In the wizarding world Dumbledore was far too important for such a discretion.

It made him sick. The more he dwelled on it, the more that piece inside him grew, became more powerful and filled him with that rage. Ice cold rage that still hadn't turned hot, a raw fury that couldn't be contained as the temperature dropped. The windows frosted, Harry's lips turned blue, and his heavy breathing was apparent in thick tufts of white carbon dioxide escaping from his lungs and out the boy's mouth.

The windows shattered.

Finally... finally Dumbledore began to look alarmed.

"Harry," he started.

"Sirius is DEAD! Dead! My godfather is dead! Gone, deceased, extinct, lifeless, expired, murdered! And all you can speak of... is TRUST! Trust in a man that can't be bothered! That hasn't shown one ounce of kindness all year. What is trust old man," Harry murmured.

"Trust, is belief. Belief in something to be fact." the 5th year looked the old wizard in the eye, "facts can be proven wrong."

He left. Left the Headmaster's office without a backward glance, gripping the door handle tight and wrenching it towards him, dropping the knob on the floor when it cracked off in his hand. He couldn't go to Gryffindor Tower, people would be there, the very last thing he wanted to do was see or worse; talk to anyone. The Room of Requirement had been overrun by the Inquisitorial Squad, there was no where left. Nowhere left that was sacred, untouched and pristine by outside hands.

For most of the journey Harry wasn't even aware of where he was going, mind blank as he continued down staircases, travelled through doorways and arches, until finally he arrived.

The Quidditch Pitch. Pristine, untouched with its gentle, flat green grass that swayed gently in the moonlight. It was touched by moonlight that was peeking from beneath the clouds turning the entire stadium inside out with shadows.

He could do anything, logically Harry knew this. Knew that Umbridge had his Firebolt (at the mere thought Harry's heart gave a painful twinge) locked up in her office. But still his holly wand appeared and a soft Accio escaped his lungs. Through the midst of the spell Harry felt a slight tug and pull, like tug of war being played, inside him, until finally the broom appeared.

Letting Harry run his hands over it. Memories appearing as easily as breathing, the first time he'd ridden it. Seeing... Sirius in dog form in the stands during a game. Riding proudly through the pitch his wand upheld casting the Patronus Charm, snitch held triumphantly in his hand.

The quiet joy that flying had always brought him was calming. Cleared the green eyed teen's head from the pain, the pain he knew was only just beginning to take hold. Pain he didn't know how to deal with, the agony of losing something he'd just begun to know was two fold.

It came from all the moments he'd shared with Sirius, hugs given, embraces received, claps on the back, a hand on his shoulder. Smiles, the look in his godfather's eyes during the Christmas holidays when the man had pranced around Grimmauld Place singing God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriff. In that same way it was twofold.

Twofold when Harry thought of all the things he'd never experience with the other. A life outside of Grimmauld, a life without constant fear, a life as Sirius's son, a life with an adult, an adult that was his own and proud of his accomplishments. That would play a round of Quidditch with him if he was feeling down, tell stories about his Hogwart's days, teach him how to be an Animagus.

Despite the flying, an emptiness had filled him.

It was a closed casket funeral. There was no body left to bury, what was the point of a funeral at all. Everyone showed up, after Sirius had been declared innocent by the Ministry there wasn't a single politician who wasn't attempting to convince Harry he'd been singularly positive of Sirius's innocence. And that it had just been a "matter of time" before the rest of the wizarding world caught on. I mean really, no trial, that just reeked of dirty political laundry.

Harry didn't speak throughout the whole ordeal. Twitching in black dress robes that were itchy on the collar and too tight in the sleeves, he didn't hear a word of the eulogy given. It was given by a wizard he'd never seen before in his life, a man who assured his audience that he had been a close personal friend of Sirius going all the way back to his schools days, through Azkaban, and until his death. Harry had never seen the man before in his life.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna were all there. It was a gesture of support Harry supposed, shown by Hermione's hand firmly clasped on his arm, and Ron's own appendage slung around his shoulder. It didn't feel comforting, it was the middle of June, they were all in black, and Harry felt like he was being mauled by a series of Muggle space heaters. It was Luna that provided the most comfort, not during the ceremony, but afterwords.

He'd gone for a walk, robes unbuttoned, shoes off, and a cooling charm on towards the Forbidden Forest. Luna had been there, feeding the thestrals handfuls of raw meat. Completely unconcerned about the blood staining her robes. They didn't say much, and Luna seemed to understand that, for she didn't press conversation except when Harry asked a question.

"Who died for you?" it was a personal, some might consider rude question, but not something Harry imagined Luna to take offence at.

"Oh, my mum. I was just a girl, nine I believe. My mum was quite a brilliant witch, you know. But... she did love to experiment, and one day a spell went badly wrong in front of me."

Harry said nothing. But this time Luna spoke again patting a single bloodstained hand against his knee.

"You shouldn't be sad though Harry, I used to be quite sad about it from time to time. But it's not as if I'll never see her again." the blonde haired girl's voice was comforting.

He knew instinctively what she was speaking of but still chose to contradict her softly.

"Luna, they won't come back as ghosts."

She giggled, peering up at him with large blue eyes that painfully reminded him of Sirius.

"You can't feel them then, just outside of reach. Beyond..." she waved a general hand around them, "this. Just on the edge of reality that sometimes you've wondered whether or not your truly sane for believing it could be true."

It wasn't really a question, for Luna already knew the answer.

But still, it brought something back to Harry. Something that had been lost, and now had been found. Something that melted down the ice block his body had become in the wake of loss. A small blossom of warmth kindled in his chest.

The feeling... of hope.

AN- Hello all of my wonderful Lords and Ladies of the Manor, it is with great pleasure I wish to bestow upon you all the second chapter in this recent fic of mine. I would be absolutely delighted to hear your comments, questions, and concerns which I will (of course) do my best to answer. So just REVIEW review review (just move your mouse... over to the review button, and click, leaving me with wonderful varieties of tips for my next addition) I simply adore reading your comments.

What's more? Oh yes! In this chapter it's sort of like an interlude... Harry's cut himself off completely from the outside world, not really processing anything (that's why the funeral details were so sparse) but in the next chapter there will be a bit more action in regards to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There will also be a POV switchy between Harry to the Dark Lord that We all Love to Hate :) and some confrontations featuring: Draco vs. Harry, Ron vs. Harry, maybe some Hermione vs. Harry. No Voldy yet I'm afriad.

If you have made it this far into my AN then I wish to bid you good day, and good night (good morning really it's one o'clock in my time zone :)

With regards,

Your friend in time,

*Kasamira


	3. Chapter 3 : A Severing of Ties

Hello my lovely lords and ladies! It's wonderful to see you all again and I hope that you all continue to thoroughly enjoy all of my writings, what's more I have a single request: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW I simply love reading all the comments and questions my readers have!

Sneak peak at the next chapter: Voldemort's POV considering the new changes made in the wizarding world and his changing relationship with Harry Potter.

Disclaimer: Well... if I did in fact own Harry Potter would that ownership extend to the other characters as well, and what about the characters who aren't mentioned by named, like the passing witches and wizards in Diagon Alley, and the extras on the movies. Does this mean I do/do not own Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson, and Ralph Fiennes. No? Well I'm headed off to St. Mugno's anyway I'll just put this on the list. _

Luna was a person who didn't expect much. She didn't demand anything Harry was unwilling to give, didn't try to wring or force or nag information out of him because of her own curiosity. The 4th year Ravenclaw was content with anything Harry was willing to give, she enjoyed his presence but didn't actively spend every moment of her day with him.

However, much to Harry's surprise he began to search Luna out, wanting to spend time with her just for her presence next to him. They didn't talk much at all, spending most of their time in the Room of Requirement or on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest attending to the Thestrals. Since Umbridge's sacking the Room of Requirement had been opened again and the students were free to pursue their fancies and after the conclusion of the DA the room had become primary snogging grounds for most couples. Exams had ended the previous day, and now the two of them were spending their last few hours at Hogwart's quietly in the Room of Requirement which was, thankfully, free of couples, who were now packing to return home.

Earlier in the day Harry had been in kitchens with his new Ravenclaw friend, munching enthusiastically on a series of belgium waffles with maple syrup, milk, and yogurt. Luna was a healthy eater and had effortlessly maneuvered her companion into enjoying the same breakfast as her. And about midway through Luna's waffles a large barn owl swooped through one of the high ceiling windows.

The Gryffindor glanced up in surprise, he hadn't been aware that owls were able to reach the kitchens, and the barn owl clearly wasn't Hedwig, so it had to belong to Luna. But still the bird landed in front of him, practically on the boy's lap, with a letter tied securely to a leg. He glanced at the girl next to him questionably,

"Well go ahead then Harry, open it."

He raised a single eyebrow, "It's not yours then?"

Luna merely shook her head silently, "No... I have a rainbow owl, Papa gave it to me for my eleventh birthday."

Harry smiled slightly at her, not commenting on that- just so... Luna response, and continued opening the letter, noticing there wasn't a name on the outside to whom it was addressed. Then... thinking better of it, slipped the note inside his bag. He didn't need to read it now, the fifth year had definitely learned his lesson about ignoring girls after that disastrous date with Cho. However, glancing over at Luna, who was pouring maple syrup over a spoonful of yogurt- a curious expression filling her cerulean blue eyes, Luna was not like other girls.

Harry had finished packing the day before but Luna mentioned it was about time she'd put up papers around Hogwart's. Her companion had looked at her queerly,

"Why would you need to do that?"

Luna had gazed up at him, the two of them departing from the Room of Requirement, and said in her customary dreamy serenely,

"Well, I've lost most of my possessions, people keep taking them, and then they hide them in the most peculiar of places. But since today is the last day I'll be spending at Hogwart's I must find them again, I really do need most of them back. Father will wonder where my shoes are even if I don't' mind, so I've been putting up lost signs."

Here Luna gestured to one of the news boards posted around school, on it was a piece of paper, with a hand written note in the blue eyed girl's small handwriting with a plea for the return of a list of items. It was a long list including things, like Luna had said, shoes, scarves, mittens, earmuffs, blue and silver socks, multiple book titles, and even her pair of Spectrespecs.

Harry felt a welling in his stomach, not of pity, he hated pity, but of anger and a tinge of sadness. It wasn't the same as that cold icy anger, this was a righteous spark of heat. Other students had stolen from her, from their own housemate. And not even in a joking manner that some Gryffindor's did, moving books to the other side of the Common Room and such. This was bullying plain and simple from her own housemates.

With a renewed sense of kinship with Luna, he looked the small girl in the eyes.

"I'm going to get your stuff back, there's simply no reason anyone has the right to take so much of your belongings."

Luna stared at him oddly, her dreamy blue eyes widening slightly, tilting her head to the side she asked questionably,

"Oh, don't worry, Harry. They'll come back in the end, they always do. I just wanted to get done packing early, but now... I think I'll go down to the feast and maybe have some pudding."

Luna flounced away, half skipping from him, not the slightest bit bothered that her peers had made off with half her belongings. Harry was unable to feel the same calmness. He could easily remember how he'd felt before coming to Hogwart's in school, being bullied by Dudley's gang and having no way to fight back. Being ignored and snubbed by his closest friends in second and fourth year had felt even worse. There was something he could do about this, something he was going to do.

With a quick Summoning Charm, Harry was off to the Room of Requirement. He needn't have waited long, because less than ten minutes later people started arriving. Most of them confused about why a meeting had been called so urgently.

Harry stood, the DA member's eyes following him as he took place in the center of the room, chatter died down, and Harry knew he had the floor.

"I taught you all quite a bit this year in regards to Defense... I hope I've also taught you a bit about other things as well. With all of us here, there is no room for prejudice about houses, Gryffindors are the same as Hufflepuffs, everyone is welcome whether it be a first year or a seventh year no one is left out."

Here he paused, giving way for a moment to look into each person's eyes individually.

"About half an hour ago today I inadvertently witnessed a vile display of house unity. With the coming war right on our door I think you'll all agree that we should stand firmly together without such petty school yard bigotedness. Ravenclaws I'm especially disappointed in you,"

The emerald eyed boy stared at each of them in turn, Roger Davies, Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecombe, Marcus Belby, Michael Corner, Terry Boot, and Padma Patil.

"You have participated in inter house bullying and stealing and all have done a great disservice to your house. As a house at Hogwart's you should show a unified front, you all share the same qualities that Ravenclaw herself did. That's something you should put to good use, something to be proud of. None of you in this room have done any of the Founder's justice. Instead you've stolen, you've cheated, you've harassed, you've bullied each other. And now you're going to apologize."

He turned to Luna, "Luna will you please join me." and getting an, "Ok, Harry." in response.

Once Luna had joined him in the center of the crowd, he turned back to his audience.

"How many of you here have mocked Luna, called her Looney Lovegood, insulted her to her face, and behind her back as well, made fun of her clothes, her jewelry, and then taken it from her? How many of your do that to others as well? How many of you needlessly insult and harass first years because their new, their small, their afraid because they've never been away from home so long before? I do not want people like that to be my friends... so if any of you want to leave... go right ahead."

None of them moved an inch. You could've heard a pin drop in the dead silence that followed. Harry's hard tone of voice softened,

"To those of you who don't do that, thank you, I realize that not all of you are the devil incarnate however none of you are angels either. And that, DA members is why together before the feast we are going to find, every item that has been stolen from Luna. You can summon them or search for them. I DON"T CARE. The end result will be the same Luna's possessions WILL be returned... TONIGHT."

Several of them looked ready to protest, and Harry was easily able to see he was winning no points in this regard, at the anger flashing in some of their eyes. However it was for them he had given this little speech, them he wanted to punish, the tormentors, the bullies, the ones who took their anger out on others.

The others who looked at Harry with a mixture of sadness for Luna and acceptance that thought, they may not want to do this, they were helping another student who'd been relentlessly bullied, and they knew it.

Luna's things were returned to her within the hour. All of them, even some that she hadn't put on the list of lost items. The 4th year had been overjoyed at the sight of her lost belongings, that had brought a small sad smile to Harry's face, the fact that Luna was happy to receive something that had belonged to her in the first place reminded him painfully of himself.

He sent the DA away with a few quick words of thanks, and was slightly surprised at the accepting reaction he got. It didn't appear that many were angry at him. Ron and Hermione had stayed in the back round during most of the proceedings, something Harry had been both surprised and relieved by. He hadn't particularly been in the mood for a conversation with them, but also knew that a confrontation would need to happen sooner or later.

Their presence had also sparked a sharp note inside of him. A sharp note of rage, rage that was not unlike what he'd felt on Luna's behalf previously. However, instead of anger on another's behalf, Harry now felt that same emotion for himself. He didn't want to speak to them, he didn't even want to look at them. The feeling of betrayal pierced him like glass, he wanted to lash out, like he'd done in Dumbledore's office.

"Harry, why didn't you tell us you were calling a meeting?" it was Hermione speaking.

For a moment Harry said nothing, and when he did speak it was softly, trying, trying so hard to remain in control.

"I'd rather not speak about it Hermione," if he talked to either of them, or worse both, he'd lose it.

But still, this time it was Ron talking, "Come on mate, I know you've had a rough time, what with Sirius dying and all... but you've got to talk to us. We could help you sort through it and all." he looked awkward, not really looking at Harry, emotional things weren't Ron's forte.

"Ron, Hermione I'd like to leave now with Luna, if you don't mind." if they wanted to pursue the topic, he'd walk away.

Ron wasn't going that easily, "Bloody hell! Harry, you've avoided us for days, you didn't come visit us in the Hospital Wing, and we still went to Sirius's funeral for you. You call a DA meeting without telling us first and then you want to leave without speaking with your best friends, AND you want to leave with Loony Lovegood."

Fine, they wanted to make this hard, he was ok with that, more than alright, he'd been looking forward to this confrontation all day.

Harry looked Ron and Hermione in the eyes, "Fine, you want to talk, start talking as you explain this." he shoved the letter he'd received in the kitchens under their noses. Both of them looked confused at first, as if for all the world they were staring at just another piece of parchment, then Hermione's and then Ron's eyes started to read the words crawling like spiders across the page.

Hermione went white, her eyes the size of saucers. Ron went pale, frozen, and all the rage he'd been brimming with was compressed down faster than a gunshot, the two of them began to stutter, the two of them stammering out basically the same things, just different words.

"Ha-Harry, you can't, you can't really believe, I didn't, honestly I didn't"

"Mate, I swear, I swear I didn't, I couldn't,"

The excuses of the guilty.

He looked at them coldly, "Yes, that is the word you've been searching for isn't it, 'I'. I didn't, I couldn't, I swear. How couldn't I believe you, after all I have been given such compelling evidence by the two of you. Above all I should believe you two. After all we've been friends for years, best friends, inseparable, the Golden Trio nothing could ever come between us." sarcasm layered his voice in sheets.

"I should kill you." he whispered, enjoying the way their eyes went even wider, true terror beginning to show underneath the shock and panic caused at being caught.

"I should do to you what I did to Bellatrix," confusion shown in both their eyes, "yes, did you really believe Dumbledore when he told you I attempted to cast the Cruciatus on her and failed? Where do you think he got that information? Perhaps he was standing next to me as I cursed that bitch." a sick sort of happiness was filling him at their fear. Flinging them against the padded walls of the Room of Requirement before he was even aware a wand was in his hand.

"Do you want me to show you? To properly reward you for your actions, after all you had be fooled, so brilliantly fooled! For five years! Five years! Imagine it, all that time... living a lie. A lie orchestrated by your best friends. Could you ever imagine what I felt? The betrayal, the hurt, the confusion. I don't imagine that you could ever feel the true scope of it, especially the anger. So different from the anger I felt towards Bella, but so similar in the result."

He stepped toward them, their bodies still pinned helplessly to the wall, absently stepping on Hermione's wand on the way over, hearing it crunch beneath his feet. Not snapped, still reparable, but not without scars. Her wand would never be the same again. He enjoyed the slight scream of horror she let out, at her damaged wand. Harry kicked it out of the way.

"Harry, you can't do this... I-we we never meant to hurt yo-" her voice died in her throat, a Silencing Spell to save his ears from her whining.

"Of course you never meant to hurt me Hermione," he patted her head condescendingly, "why... why would my best friends ever want to hurt me. What? I asked myself, what could they ever gain from doing this?"

"Get your bloody hands off her!" Ron yelled, his previously white faced turned purple with rage, thrashing against his bonds, wriggling and trying to get free, "We're your best friends and this is how you treat us! You don't even let us explain, you bloody bastard, you sonofa-" he was abruptly cut off by another Silencing Charm.

"Thank you, very much Ronald." Harry said crisply, emerald eyes flashing, "While I am pleased that you're finally showing some of that Gryffindor courage, it's rather misplaced, brash if you will. You see I gave you a chance to explain, you squandered it. Both of you. Giving me excuses which just points directly to your guilt, even if you had managed to explain this away I'd never have believed you." the fury built in Weasley's eyes.

"Not for the reason you think Ronald, but because I can see it so clearly in your minds. Your guilt, they say the eyes are windows to the soul. In that case it's a very poor sight indeed."

"But I do understand, your need to talk, well Hermione's I can. She's always been very knowledgeable on source subjects, and as long as you can control your language I'll let up on the silencing charm. Because I can assure you that my parents were happily married, unlike some." with that last goad he undid the charm, and was unsurprised that Ronald's complexion seemed to be steaming. Hermione, seemed to grasp a bit further into the situation she'd put herself in, and had gone silent, and pale faced. She knew, that unlike Ron, this was something they could just walk away from now, Harry had given them that chance.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice soft, "I know you're mad, you have every right to be angry with us for what we did. It was wrong, we weren't thinking of you, but please you said you just wanted us to leave before. Just let us go, we won't bother you."

The emerald eyed Gryffindor came closer to Hermione, pressing his left hand above her head on the wall, ignoring Ron, his wand arm at the ready, they were only inches away.

"You're right Hermione, you're right just as usual. I am mad, ha! Mad! I am so mad I can't even describe it, there aren't words. And I know that I have every right to be feeling this way, you were wrong, so so so so wrong. But you're also wrong that you weren't thinking of me. You were absolutely thinking about me, every move I made, every words that came from my lips, every action I've made in the last five years you've been watching like the good little rats you are. So yes you've been thinking of me, but not in the way I expected. NOT as a friend does, more like say, a visitor at the zoo, coming to look at the freaks in the cages. They're curious attractions, you can even feed them, and they'll always be there waiting for your next visit. Day after day after day after day. And every day you come to see them... they're happy."

Once again Hermione's eyes were wide with horror, but this time it was at the comparison Harry had made, "Harry I can swear to you we never, never thought of you that way."

"You may not have thought it, but that's how you treated me."

"We treated you better than anyone in your entire life! We became your friends when you didn't have anyone else, you owe us!" Ron was blustering.

"You took advantage of me! You took advantage of a person who'd never known any sort of kindness, and used that to your advantage. If anything you owe me five years of my life back not the other way around."

A sneer twisted Ronald's purple face, "You've got to be joking! We've spent five years nearly being killed because of you; Quirrell, Riddle, the Basilisk, Dementors, Black, Time Travel, Voldemort, your visions, the Ministry! You got Hermione cursed by that Death Eater Dolohov! She nearly died, you disgusting traitorous-"

A silencing charm was repeated.

"I said you could talk, without the obscenity. I gave you two chances, you broke them. I don't see any reason for me to humor you any further." Harry spoke in short choppy sentences, knowing that most of his message wouldn't get much further than Ronald's murderous eyes.

He turned to Hermione, "I really must thank you Hermione," he smiled into her fearful bewildered eyes, "if you hadn't been clever enough to jinx that piece of parchment we all signed after joining the DA this might have taken a very different turn. Now however, I'm off the hook, as the muggles say. It was your doing that brought this about, however I could never forget about dear Ronald over there. You may not recognize him in a few moments, however don't you worry, all the important features will stay; red hair, purple face, freckles- although you might not be able to see the freckles."

Harry pulled a piece of parchment from his cloak, and using his wand drew a single line through two names on the list.

Ronald Weasley

Hemione Granger

There was a slight sizzling noise, and then a pop. He took the silencing charm off Ron, almost immediately howls began to ring throughout the Room of Requirement. As the 5th year Gryffindor boy began to scream like he was being impaled with a red hot poker. Hermione was eerily silent, maybe, Harry mused, knowing what was coming was far worse than it actually happening.

On his way out the emerald eyed boy was kind enough to leave the letter he'd receieved earlier in the day next to the DA piece of parchment. It was a letter that had caused much upheaval in his life in only a few short hours. But in those few hours a great deal had been accomplished, and as Harry met Luna (who had waited for him) outside in the corridor, he considered the fact that he had made more decisions today than he had done the whole school year. That goes to show, he mused, what happens when you start thinking for yourself, and not trusting blindly.

Behind him, the letter brought by the barn owl fluttered to the ground amidst the commotion caused by a certain red haired Weasley.

Miss Granger,

We would like to thank you for your purchase of the following potions: (we include descriptions to ensure no mistakes are made with your orders)

Truth Potion (Veritaserum)

Trust Potion (Unctous Unction)

Weakening Potion (Infusion of Bloodroot)

Your request for an infusion of the Trust Potion Unctous Unction, the Bloodroot (in small quantities because of the poisonous toxicity), and a small amount of Veritaserum has been granted, and we received your response stating that the subject in question to be receiving the infusion is about fifty-two kilograms, and around one hundred and sixty five centimeters.

We have also recently received your request for a Love Potion, and are currently processing it, however one of our Potions Master's wishes to caution you, Miss Granger, that there is a high toxicity ratio caused when the Infusion of Bloodroot (an already toxic compound) is consumed in addition with a Love/Lust Potion. We have also received the hair to be added to the Love Potion and have confirmed that the owner of the hair is of some close (possibly sibling) relation to Ronald Bilius Weasley (we determined this with a heritage potion, in order to ensure the wellness of the subject).

Warnings (included in every response with potentially harmful ingredients):

With all of these potions there is a possibility of addiction with the persisted administration of these potions.

Sickness, nausea, and impaired cognitive function.

Finally we must warn you that none of these potions are meant to be administered to any human/humanoid being/creature for the safety of both the patient, and to prevent the customer from any legal ramifications.

Anonymity and Swiftness at,

Twilifitt and Tattings; where we provide all manner of necessities needed by the everyday witch and wizards.

Promotion: after five faithful years of business we offer you and Mr. Dumbledore (as your benefactor) five percent off your next order.

I hope you enjoyed the letter! Please feel free to review to your heart's content.

Much love to my faithful readers,

Your friend in time

*Kasamira


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I would never own the Harry Potter books or characters or ideas; I love Tommy too much ;0

Hello my lovely lords and ladies! I would love to present you with this new addition to my growing collection, starting with that Voldemort POV I promised you :) I have one simple request of you: please review review review! I adore reading your comments, questions, and concerns and love responding back. Right now I'm having a lovely PMing conversation with a fellow author :)

Nagini was simply an exquisite being. Magnificent, really, Voldemort mused silently, as the great snake leaned into his touch, hissing quietly in pleasure. Her crisp vert scales glittered throughout the chamber, throwing tiny micro light detailing onto the stone walls. His secretary flinched. The Minister for Magic, barely contained a sigh, and the urge to steeple his temples grew. He'd kept almost all of the Ministry's staff on, except for the Aurors who had actively fought against his take over. Understandably some of the Ministry workers were a bit wary of his presence, he enjoyed that, being left alone and obeyed implicitly was something he expected, and at this current time their fear of him was working to his own benefit.

His hand tightened momentarily around his prized pet's scales, before returning to his normal stroking. However, some, certain wizards persisted in their belief that at his every twitch he would either crucio them out of their wits, which couldn't be hard considering how few they pertained, or kill them with some manner of maniacal laughter in the middle of the Atrium. Those certain magical folk had been dismissed, the Minister had no room in his workplace for those beings more frightened of their employer than not getting their job done. As far as he knew only one remained, Percy Weasley, Junior Unsersecretary to the Minister.

If the Minister were to be completely honest with himself he would admit that it was only in the last day that he had begun to find Weasley so unbearably infuriating. The rest of his term of Minister had been spent actively seeking to terrify the red head as much as possible, the most amusing part was that he didn't need to actively try to scare the boy. Voldemort did it without altering any of his behavior.

For example, according to the second law of thermodynamics harbors cause and effect, when Voldemort would speak in parseltongue the effects it would have on Percy were far more enjoyable than something Boyle and Guericke produced.

Now, he simply wished to murder the Weasley brat. Something, the man regretted he could no longer do.

The Ministry had fallen quite easily, an unexpected ambush had taken place on his part, and the former Minister for Magic himself had Flooed right into his lap. Voldemort would have had to be a fool not to take advantage, and he was no fool. A single overwhelming attack had been his goal, something to paralyze the ministry's defenses and render their safe guards and wards null. A single raid which was meant to do several things; swiftly take over the Ministry with as little wizard blood shed as possible, assume control of the Ministry's assets, and to very strongly control the aftereffects of the attack.

Things like publicity, the Prophet, image... the people of the wizarding world needed to know two things; that they wouldn't all be murdered in their beds the moment he took control, and that things were going to change. Not the change that so many empire's before had in civilizations past, those were plotlines that always ended in disaster.

There was the introduction, of a new people with high ambitions and hopes, there was foreshadowing signifying great things were to happen, there was the protagonist and the antagonist introduced. Usually the antagonist being the current goverment, there was the building suspense up towards the climax which signified the efforts put in place by the protagonist to achieve success. Then there was the climax itself; the high point of the story where all matters are supposed to be brought to light.

A verifiable Golden Age. But just as in a storyline after the climax is the falling action, the conclusion to the plot. A tying up of loose ends, which when applied to civilizations reigns usually spelled disaster. A strong leader dies, leaves no heir, no children who are strong enough to continue. There's squabbling, feuding, civil war for power until eventually the once great empire is split in two, three, sometimes many pieces. It happened with the Roman Empire, it happened with Persia, the Austrian Empire, the Ottoman Empire, and most obviously the Byzantine Empire.

It brought to light a great flaw in human biology. Death. Death did not bode well when making something eternal. Death was flawed, death destroyed, death dismantled and levelled empires, death was the weakness which pertained to all before him, death... to Voldemort was immaterial. Nagini, Voldemort remembered, guaranteed that. Along with a few... other pieces in his collection. There was a new piece though, something altogether unexpected.

"Minister? There's someone here to see you." there was a slight trembling in Weasley's voice that both snapped the red eyed man out of his thoughts and made him want to sneer. Weren't Gryffindor's supposed to be brave?

He waved a regal hand.

"Let them in."

Into the chamber came a young blonde haired man; Draco Malfoy. A bare flicker of interest sparked. He'd sent the youngest Malfoy to Hogwart's with his first assignment after the Ministry takeover; observe Harry Potter. Voldemort had wanted to know the boy's every move, his whereabouts, his classes, his extracurriculars, his friends; everything.

"I didn't summon you, Draco,"

The Malfoy boy didn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on the polished floor beneath their feet. The chambers of the Minister for Magic had been adjusted with Voldemort's arrival, and now the room looked much more like the Dark Lord's office in his manor.

"I'm sorry my Lord, but you said that if anything... urgent were to develop with Potter I should come immediately..." the fifteen year old trailed off.

Voldemort barely refrained from rolling his crimson eyes, making an impatient gesture.

"I had a conversation with Potter today on the train coming back from school..." here Draco paused and the Dark Lord barely restrained himself from snorting in disdain, imagining the type of conversation that Potter and Malfoy jr. would be having. To his knowledge they were sworn rivals in all school matters. A childish rivalry, something he wouldn't indulge in.

"He's fallen out with his Mudblood and Bloodtraitor friends; Granger and Weasley. From what I can tell it was private, not any other Gryffindor witnessed it. Then at the leaving feast Dumbledore called Potter up to his office, I couldn't hear what they were saying, but when Potter came back he looked enraged. Went to the Room of Requirement and started blowing things up, I could have heard the crashes down in the dungeons. When he was finished, Weasley attacked him as Potter made his way out of the Come and Go Room. My lord," Draco's voice turned hesitant.

Voldemort's blood red eyes gleamed, and Draco hurried to continue.

"Potter took Weasley out with barely a flinch, slammed him against the wall and silenced him before Weasley could get more than a few words out. He kept calling Potter a traitor, cursing, struggling to attack him again. That's when I noticed something... peculiar about Weasley... about his face in particular..."

Voldemort, losing patience implied, "And what, Draco, about his face attracted you to it?" voice silky smooth, rather enjoying the flush that filled the blond's cheeks.

"It had been cursed, I don't know what with but it looked like he'd been hit with a Swelling Solution to the face and then jinxed with acne on top of it. It spelled SNEAK in huge letters right across his face. And when Potter shoved him up against the wall... it just wasn't on Weasley's face, I saw SNEAK on his arms and neck as well. From the way Weasley has been walking, I believe it to be on his feet as well."

"And why Draco, should I be interested in petty childish pranks between school children?" he was lying, the Malfoy spawn obviously couldn't tell from the way he paled, and tried frantically to explain.

"Because Potter cursed him, shoved him up against the wall, held him there, and cursed him. Potter must have cursed him, because I've never heard someone scream that loudly before... but my lord, Potter didn't just do that, he did it without a wand."

The Dark Lord's fingers paused, then quietly resumed stroking Nagini's head. The Malfoy child standing awkwardly before him, steaming in a mix of fear, apprehension, and two contrary needs; one to stay and one to leave. Draco was like most dark wizards; attracted to the magic it produced by being around another more powerful dark wizard, but at the same time fearful and repelled by the more powerful for his own Slytherin self preservation.

Wandless magic... he didn't bother verbally dismissing Draco, just waved an errant hand to send the boy away, where, he didn't care, probably back to Malfoy Manor. So Potter was practising non verbal wandless magic, and had cursed his friends with it. It sounded eerily similar to the Ministry of Magic incident just a few nights ago concerning Bella.

Perhaps... perhaps he had judged Potter too quickly. More research was needed, especially over the summer, the boy's behaviors without magic would be quite telling. Perhaps...

"Perhaps my subjects should leave when I dismiss them." Definitely not a request.

This time the Slytherin paled, stammering out, "S-sorrry, my lord but when I confront-when I had my conversation with Potter on the train he gave me this to explain what he did to Granger and Weasley." Draco extended a single piece of folded parchment. Then bowed regally, his etiquette still intact, and made his exit.

Curiously, the dark haired man peered down at the parchment paper, opening it proved that the contents was a letter, what looked like an order to a Diagon Alley store... and... oh, oh dear. For the first time since gaining Ministry power Riddle let a smile slowly crawl over his face, it was a dark smile, filled with promises someone like Voldemort had the stones to keep.

* "Perhapss... Nagini, our dear Harry needs a second chance in life. After all, as children we often make rash decisions in our youth." Nagini barely lifted her head to grace him with an answer, she was the only one who could do that. Ignore him without repercussions.

Harry had merits, he had all the right qualities of a true Slytherin. Now merely a wolf in sheeps clothing, Harry was a verifiable image in the wizarding world. A Savior, a light in the darkness, their champion. Voldemort wondered what would happen to the light wizards morale if their savior's light were to go... dark. Yes, the boy had potential, after doing such a thing wandlessly and wordlessly, and having near complete control. The boy deserved a reward. But he was getting ahead of himself, needed to keep with his original plan.

If Potter was to come to their side several provisions would have to be made, Potter would have to be approached by a recruiter, carefully molded, preferably by himself, shaped to something useful when the time came. And then shattered, like a piece of pottery.

It would be him, Voldemort mused, who picked up those broken pieces and glued them back together into a likeness that would be greater than the original. Something to be truly feared.

The Hogwart's Express was hot. Red in colour the train practically radiated heat, the sticky hotness came off the machine in waves that blared at the students boarding. It felt like they'd been doused with boiling water, and put in a muggle dryer, and then set out on black pavement to cook. June had never been so hot.

Thankfully, there were Cooling Charms on the inside.

Harry got a compartment with Luna and Neville, Neville carrying his mimbulus mimbletonia plant. Luna wearing her signature radish earrings which were bouncing around like crazy when she flounced in, thick pale hair swinging around her waist.

"Did you see Ronald, Harry? He had the funniest messages all across his body, he was trying to hide them of course, I don't believe he'd want many to believe that he was..." a contemplative look crossed her face, "what do the muggles call them again Harry, Pettering Tony's, Peetering Tommies... oh yes! Peeping Tom's! I really don't imagine that to be something many are proud of. It's because of the Nargles," she sighed.

"They run havoc throughout a persons mind, like those Bat Boogie's that Ginny likes to cast at boys." Luna looked pleased with the comparison.

Neville was staring at her, alarm written plainly over the poor boy's face, glancing in between Harry and Luna like a tennis match where he was the ball boy.

Harry roared with laughter, a true smile twisting across his face for the first time in a long while. It felt good to laugh, it felt even better to hear Luna call Weasley a peeping Tom, but beggars can't be choosers.

He flashed back to the previous day, after the leaving feast Ron had practically attacked him in an open corridor. Harry guessed the boy had finally felt the curse's effects, and after seeing Ron's face he was completely assured of it. And utterly unable to keep the vindictive smirk from his lips at the other's appearance.

Ronald was covered in a mixture of boils, pimples, and large amounts of cystic acne. The main pustules covering his face spelled out a single word across his face, on display for anyone unfortunate enough to look at him. SNEAK. A synonym for traitor. Not of course that traitor wasn't written in a multitude of other places, just as painfully, all across the red head's body.

Back stabber, betrayer, Judas, whistle-blower, turncoat, snitch, spy, two timer, defactor, deserter, fink, stool pigeon, and traitor. TRAITOR was written in bold cystic acne across every limb of his body, making it impossible to ignore. Right now it curled around Weasley's neck like a collar showing his true colors. And around wrists and ankles like chains. He'd been turned into a living message of betrayal.

The best part was that others wouldn't necessarily see it. Only those who already knew Weasley's true colors would be able to see the jinx that Harry had "modified". People like Dumbledore, others would have no reaction other than what was normal to Weasley's presence. Other's Harry would inform of the red head's betrayal. Neville, Luna, Ginny, maybe a few others. He didn't yet know if Ginny knew of the love potions. He would assume not, her name hadn't been mentioned in the letter and the company supplying the potions had made it sound as if they'd had to verify who the red hair for the love potion was from. Ginny was just a girl hiding a crush on him. Innocent. Not a person who deserved what had almost been done to the both of them.

For her it would have been a delusion, Harry Potter finally returning her affections. Harry knew he shouldn't be bitter towards the girl, it wasn't her fault, he knew that even if Ginny didn't feel the attraction for him she would have been doused with Love Potion as well.

For Harry... it would have been rape. Plain and simple. Nothing to think about, he'd have been forced to do something he didn't want to. He would have been unable to give consent under a drugs effects, never mind the fact he was underage. He knew Ginny would never do anything he didn't want her to do, but the problem was that under the Love Potion he wouldn't have been able to do anything to prevent any breach of boundaries.

Vindictive pleasure at Ronald's situation was the least of his feelings toward the boy. Ronald had confronted him, after the feast, brandishing his wand, shouting and howling incoherently, throwing off half curses and spells that didn't go anywhere near his target. But instead paintings, sending the occupants inside scattering, burning just the edges, showing that Weasley wasn't in full control of his spell work.

With vile words pouring from the vile persons mouth Harry had acted on instinct. Wanting to protect both himself and all the other people and portraits on the floor. He'd slammed Ron into the wall, his body making a lovely cracking noise on impact. He hoped it was his spine. More likely it was a rib or two.

In a matter of seconds Weasley had been silenced and restrained, to prevent any further harm to anything or anyone.

"Sso... I'm the traitor am I?" his voice was bordering on Parseltongue, the rage twisting the edges of his vision at Ronalds gall. The boy should be grateful he hadn't done anything permanent to him, like manual spinal removal permanent. But no. Instead, this is what he got, a wailing, whining, whimpering, wad of flesh unable to control his own spell work, what was he, a first year?

"I'm the one who betrayed you, set you up for five years, made friends with you, made you believe that I'd do anything for you, that I had your back, that I could trust you, trust you with my life if it came to that. Was I the one who drugged you? Doused you with potions? Tried to commit rape against two people?" at this last sentance Ronald started squirming again in protest.

"But that's what it was, Ronald! Rape!," his voice was a heated whisper, "your sister is fourteen, FOURTEEN years old! And don't tell me you wouldn't have doused her with love potion too. I would have been drugged out of my wits. Do you know what the muggles call that, Ronald? When your too high to give consent? RAPE!" he sneered at the boy in disgust, letting loose the silencing charm he'd infected the perimeter with.

"Quite frankly Ronald, I never want to see your... lovely face ever again. I don't want to hear your voice or see a single hide, hair, or freckle of you ever again." here Harry paused, a sneering smile twisting his face, "not that I'm sure the freckles will survive the... other conditions on your face... and all across your body I'd assume." The smile increased when Ronald's face went purple with rage, a verifiable yes as far as Harry was concerned.

Harry was hardly able to lean in close, not wanting to physically be close to the boy.

"Did you like Hermione's punishment? I know that it wasn't as... graphically physical as yours but what can I say, at least she understands what she did, knows it was wrong, knows how disgusting her actions were. I wonder if she regrets them? Regrets doing this? I think she does... but she's not like you, when I caught the two of you did you ever notice how silent she became. Quiet as a mouse. She was relieved to be caught, wanted it. Couldn't bear to deal with what you were doing anymore." he whispered in Ronald's ear.

"Face it, Ronald, she couldn't stand to look at your ugly mug for one more day."

The red head's reaction was priceless, he tried to spit at Harry. Tried, implying that he also failed. The mixture of the silencing and retraining charm not only choked him but caused the gob of saliva to go all across Ronald's own face. Making an... amusing picture to say the least.

Harry laughed, not the same carefree amused sound he'd make a few hours later on the Express with Luna. No, this was cold and hard as carbon laugh that echoed around the corridor,

"Do you want me to leave you with something visible, something others who aren't aware of your betrayal can see. Something... physical maybe?" even when he didn't bother brandishing his wand, Ronald, reacted, trying to thrash within his bonds.

Harry let instinct guide him, intent of what he wanted to do, not knowing the exact spell for it. Ronald started screaming, high intense pained screams that spoke of a mixture of rage and despair. That was when Harry knew he'd started to give up, leave the fruitless vendetta he had against him. Hopefully this wouldn't happen again, the emerald eyed boy mused, he as almost disappointed it wouldn't.

When he was finished, the result was something worse than that acne had ever been.

"Do you like it Ron?" he asked, "It's permanent, well almost all of it is. Not the stuff on your face, we can't have mummy displaced at her son's disfiguration now can we. No every mark, every bump and scratch and pimple on your body will stay there. For as long as I deem fit, as the caster of the curse only I can remove it. So you might as well consider it permanent."

Harry remembered how the encounter had left him, breathless, flooded with energy, and he didn't realize until he was half way down the first flight of stairs that he hadn't used his wand the entire time. Reaching into his pocket, and gripping the holly and phoenix feather wand, he felt a pang of loss coming from the instrument. Like the other knew what he had done and was disappointed not to be part of the action.

In the train Harry listened to Neville, talking to him absently, but enthusiastically, Neville was a nice person, kind, heartfelt, and loyal to a fault. Luna had fallen silent beside them, enraptured in the Quibbler as always. Things had died down, were quiet and almost relaxed, he couldn't foresee a future where Ronald attacked him again and Hermione had been indefinitely taken care of. Hermione's punishment had differed from Ronald's, it hadn't been as physical, Harry hadn't bothered with SNEAK knowing that Granger would have been easily able to counteract that with a simple glamour.

No instead he'd put a mark on her, a mark on her magic more accurately, so that instead of a physical impairment she had a magical sign. Something that would tell those who felt her magic that she had committed a great betrayal. It was something psychological that would haunt her for the rest of her life, something Harry almost considered crueler than Ronald's. He doubted either of them would bother him again, good. He didn't want to see either face in his life time.

When it happened he shouldn't have been surprised, it was almost expected really, Draco's visit. The boy never wasted an opportunity, and how could he ever find a better one, Harry was isolated, no teachers, a fight with his friends, a separating of ways. He'd been on his way back to his compartment when Draco had struck. Oddly, Draco wasn't accompanied as usual by his normal entourage of goons; Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

They'd had the usual exchange in words, some taunts back and forth, a few insults, normal stuff. Until Draco had said something unexpected.

"What did you do to Weasley yesterday Potter?" voice still taunting, almost like Draco thought he'd get Harry in trouble with Snape.

"I saw you with him," Malfoy smirked, walking nearer to him, trying to intimidate the Gryffindor, "saw you slam him up against the wall, and I saw you make him scream, for Salzar's sake Potter it went down the halls like a dirge. Almost thought you'd transformed him into a Banshee, and you did all of it. Every last breath of it... without a wand." here Malfoy smirked again triumphantly, as if he'd caught him in a great sin, expecting Harry to get down on his knees and beg the other not to tell anyone.

Instead Harry had done something entirely unexpected, he'd been sick of Malfoy's taunting remarks, his threats. Just yesterday the blonde had made a similar move.

Harry had just stepped into the entrance hall when Malfoy, Tweedle Dee, and Tweedle Dum and come out of a door on the right, that Harry knew from second year let down to the Slytherin common rooms. The Malfoy heir hadn't wasted any time,

"You're dead, Potter." he said it like it was something that had already happened, a done deal.

"Funny," Harry remarked, "you'd think I'd have stopped walking around... and breathing of course, that is essential to life."

Malfoy stopped dead, fists clenching in rage, "You're going to pay, Potter. The Dark Lord will see to it." a smirking sneer curled around his pale lips, "you know he's taken over the Ministry, the whole wizarding world is under his control. You don't stand a chance against him," Malfoy shook his head, that same smirk stretching wider, "if you knew what he had planned for you..."

"Well... now that you've suitably terrified me about the consequences of making Voldy angry I suppose you'll continue terrorizing the first years now. Gotta do it quick before they become second years and too much for the three of your to take one on one." flashing them a quick smile he started walking away.

Turning his back on them had been a calculated move, not a mistake. Malfoy went for his wand, Harry was faster, the holly had practically apparated into his palm.

"POTTER!" it was Snape.

Harry felt a rush of hatred, not the same hotness around Ron but that cold rage that had accompanied Sirius's death, that had come with Bella. No matter what happened he would never forgive the other man. To him Snape was as good as dead, he'd ignored his warning about Sirius, and Harry had an instinctive feeling he'd done something much worse to him as well. The way Dumbledore trusted him, that wouldn't speak of kind words and a gentle intent on Snape's part.

"What are you doing, Potter? What sort of ruckus are you causing?" Snape said, voice cold as ever in his presence.

Harry smiled blithely, something that clearly startled the other man.

"Well, you see sir, I'm trying to decide what to curse Malfoy with, would you like me to share my process out loud, sir? Usually I don't do it audibly but I can make an exception for your learning curve... sir."

Snape stopped dead, shocked, the biggest emotional response Harry had ever received from the man other than rage.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter for attacking another student, and another twenty for disrespecting a teacher, Potter." his voice was like ice chips.

"Now... get on with you the train is waiting. And I do hope that over the course of the summer, Mr. Potter you'll realize that it isn't wise to alienate those around you when a shift in power has taken place... it could be quite disruptive for your health" and with that the other disappeared, obviously expecting Harry to obey without a thought to the contrary.

Now back on the train, Draco meant to push again, without the presence of Snape.

"Do you know what the Dark Lord has planned for you, Potter? Because if I were you I'd be running for the hills of Romania by now," his sneering voice made Harry give pause.

Draco was a problem, he had persisted in being a problem for over five years. Problems were made to be solved, and this was a problem that he wouldn't permit to continue. He caught Draco off guard, coming out of nowhere. Draco's final words being the trigger.

"I saw what you did to Weasley, Potter. Are you two no longer BFF's?"

Pining Draco to the walls inside the blonde's compartment was absurdly easy, the blonde was slim and light, and made a nice noise when he hit the wall.

"Why Draco, are you making an offer? Do you want to be my... best friend forever?"

The other was scared, that showed plainly back in his silver eyes, but still a sneer crawled up his lips at Harry's remark.

"Please Potter, I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot wand under a preservation spell. I'm just curious about what you did to Weasley that made him scream." smirks, "Never heard anyone scream so loud."

It was enough, this was stopping today, Draco had had two choices in the past, friend or enemy, now it wasn't going to be either. Now Draco was going to step off.

"Do you want to find out, Draco?" Harry asked, his emerald eyes, darkening, his voice turning silky smooth, almost hissing, "Do you want me to give you the same treatment, make you scream at the top of your lungs, and beg me to stop until you have no air left in your lungs to breath? Does that sound nice to you?" he trailed his wand down the pale face, stroking the holly through his hair, deliberately tangling the instrument, so he could yank out a few hairs. Enjoying Draco's wince.

"How about I do to you what I did to Bella. She's your aunt right? Aunty Bella, I bet she tells you to call her that in her baby voice. Does that frighten you? The madness in her eyes, I could see it so clearly, the insanity, it practically came off her in a stench. Do you think she'll harm you? Or... your mother? With the Dark Lord's come to power your father will have so many duties to attend to. They're sisters, Draco, bosom sisters who grew up with one another. If dear Auntie Bella killed her cousin... just imagine what she'd do to your mother." and with that parting thought, Harry turned to leave, still not letting Draco down.

"Oh, sorry Draco, I almost forgot." he reached into his pocket, putting his wand away in the process, and pulled out a letter. Tossing it at Draco's feet, "You were curious about Weasley, this should answer a few questions. Oh, and be sure to see him, after you read it. I can assure you, it's permanent."

And with that parting message Harry left him, waving a regal hand to collapse Draco from his position against the wall. The pureblood crumpled down against the ground, coughing and desperately gasping for air.

Harry Potter walked out with his head held high. There was change coming, different from anything he'd already done. The emerald eyed teen could feel it in the air, sweeping around the magical world to make it's presence known. Whatever happened in the next few weeks, he was sure of two things that were closely intertwined; he wasn't going back to the Dursley's this summer. The other matter was something that brought a dark smirk to his face.

Something that just... made his day.

AN- Hello one and all. Now... you absolutely have to tell me one thing... did you like it? Did you like it, did you like it, did you like it? And of course do you have questions? If so just click into that text box at the bottom of your screen, I know it's there even if it's not on my word document I"m thinking fourth dimensionally because in the future, when I post this it will be on your screen. So, do a girl a favor and review :)

Much love and much thanks to all of you who have been giving me wonderful ideas (you know who your are :) virtual hugs to all of you out there.

Up next: Dursley confrontation dun dun DUNNN, I can hear Beethoven now. And Harry... is approached, and starts to encounter the changes made to life by Voldemort's rise to power. Because right now he wasn't feeling any of the changes being at Hogwart's, but let me assure you: BIG CHANGES AHEAD. Like titanic big, so stick around.

Your friend in time,

*Kasamira


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: So not mine guys...

AN- Wow! This chapter is looooonnnnnggggg, longest I've ever written. I hope you like it! And please don't forget to review!How do you guys feel about a Dursley outtake, detailing exactly what's in store for Vernon, Petunia, Dudley, and Marge? In that same outtake would be a conversation between Ginny and Mr. Weasley about just what Molly had in store for her daughter.

I would like to thank EVERYONE, all of my readers, and especially my reviewers, and the ones who are most graciously PMing me with ideas for helping me. Every word truly means a lot and I would love to thank each and every one of you for your help.

* * *

Kings Cross Station was the same as ever; hustling and bustling with all sorts of activity. The screaming and hollering of children and parents being reunited, the screeching of owls, hissing and clawing of cats, along with the croaking of Trevor, who was tucked safely in Neville's arms beside Harry. They made their way slowly through the roiling crowd, and finally parted ways, each saying their goodbyes in turn. Neville when he spotted his grandmother, giving Luna and Harry each a hug in turn. And finally Luna spotting her father with a cry of "Papa," giving Harry a peck on the cheek and wishing him an exciting summer in her characteristic dreamy voice before flouncing off, saying she'd write to him. Harry assumed she would with her rainbow owl. His affectionate eyes followed her form until her long blonde hair finally disappeared into the crowd.

Walking through the crowd carrying his shrunken trunk in a pocket, Harry was surprised to take notice of the Weasley matron scanning the crowd, he hadn't noticed her at first. But apparently she had noticed him.

Mrs. Weasley had a pinched expression on her face, and when Harry approached seemed gather herself, throwing her shoulders back and lifting her chin, looking Harry in the eyes.

"Harry James Potter, you will remove that curse from my son, this instant!"

Apparently the woman had noticed the... changes affecting her son recently, and was wasting no time at all with her conversation with Harry, like the Gryffindor she'd been in school the woman was going straight for the throat. Harry looked at her coldly, not even wanting to dignify such a thing with a response, wondering if Mrs. Weasley knew what her son had done. If she was innocent of her son's crimes then he would hold nothing against her, however if she'd been aware of her youngest son's exploits... then that was a whole other story.

"That boy has done nothing except be your best friend since you were eleven years old! And this is how you repay your best friend! By cursing him! Calling him a traitor! After all my family has done for you!"

"Done nothing except be my friend? After everything you've done for me? Well, your family certainly has an amusing way of showing friendship. I may not have much in the way of friendship however I am fairly certain that drugging someone against their will and shoving them full of poisonous potions for over five years isn't something bosom best pals regularly participate in." Harry's voice was coldly sneering, she was taking her son's side in an argument the boy had already tried and failed to win. The woman was obviously blinded to what her son had been doing, or delusional. Take your pick.

"We welcomed you into our home!" Molly screeched, "We took you to the World Cup! I practically acted like your mother! And you couldn't put up with a few potions! You should be grateful we weren't repressing your magic! Suppressors would have been a good idea if Dumbledore hadn't gotten their first, then maybe you would have learned some manners!"

Harry stopped dead, aware that the crowd around them had all stopped their whispering in favor of staring at Molly in horror. She'd wanted to give a child suppressors! Why didn't she just kill him herself then, with the damage that those things would inflict on someone so young. Especially a child! It was vile, disgusting, unthinkable. She could be thrown into Azkaban for PLANNING such a thing much less carrying it out.

"Are you aware of the... shall we say... legal repercussions of what you've done, Molly." it wasn't really a question, she obviously didn't, he would enjoy thoroughly making her aware of them.

The fiery haired woman drew herself up, sneering at him, "You're right, it's a crime what you've done to our family! You gave Fred and George money to start that wretched store! And you've destroyed your friendship with Ron! I don't know what more you could do to us!"

Harry smirked, emerald eyes flashing, "Oh, I could think of a few things, Molly. Would you like me to introduce them to you?" he continued before she could form a response, "Long gruelling Ministry hearings, an even longer trial that'll cost twice as many galleons, disgrace throughout the wizarding world for doing such a thing to a child, your public credibility torn to shreds by eager reporters like say; Rita Skeeter. And finally when all the legal dues have come and said their part you'd be locked up... in Azkaban for a number of things I'd imagine. Child abuse, child endangerment, attempted murder- you know, for poisoning me for the past five years. What do you say, Molly? Do you want to know what else I could do to you... legally of course." he finished hurrieded... not wanting her to get the... wrong idea that he might be threatening her.

She'd been a Gryffindor however, and subtlety was never their strong suit.

"You're no good!" the red head whispered heatedly, high spots of color in her cheeks, "just like that godfather of yours! Always wanting to tell you things! He should have just left it to his elders! There was no reason for you to get involved!"

Later, witnesses to the public spectacle would recall feeling as though the temperature had dropped quite dramatically. But it was the face of the boy they realized to be Harry Potter which startled them. His eyes, which they'd been sure had been green one moment seemed to flash another color for a very brief moment. Brief enough many believed it to be a trick of the light. Others knew better. Harry Potter's eyes had turned a blood red crimson.

Molly recoiled.

Harry stepped forward, closer to the woman. Close enough he could smell the sweat on her flesh, he wrinkled his nose, and spoke to her a single sentence in a voice that conveyed the true measure of his thoughts. It was a voice of ice, just on the side of silky, almost like a snake's hissing.

"You'll get your dues, and I'm going to be there for every second of them."

Then he leaned back and said in a loud voice, so that all the gawking witches and wizards on the platform would hear him.

"I would like you to leave, Molly." Simple and straight to the point, and something that every other being on the platform would back him up on. She'd practically tried to kill him. Harry didn't believe that the wizarding world would take too kindly to some woman attempting to murder the Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-telling-the-truth-about-You-Kn ow-Who.

However, it seemed that the fiery haired witch didn't want to go quietly.

"This is public property," she sniffed, "you can't make me leave."

Harry looked at her in amusement, letting the emotion shine clearly on his face so that she could see it.

"You're right, I can't make you leave, however I'm not entirely positive that you'll remain safe and sound the longer you stay." he tried to make her understand, "You practically tried to kill me, Molly! Bloodroot is poisonous, toxic if consumed, you've been giving that and quite a number of other things that are no less beneficial for over five years. And you've just been shouting about how proud you are to have done it. Do you really believe everyone on this platform will share your viewpoint? Or will they back me up?"

At this point, Harry stopped. Took a breather, and let the stout woman look around, gaze up at the other witches and wizards present. Let her see their stance on their argument that had been so public; just a single look into the bystanders would have given all the information she needed.

There had been a lot of turmoil in the wizarding world during the past few days, a whole slew of changes, some that many approved of and others that many were dead set against. Naturally many wanted someone to blame, it was a natural human emotion, to try and make others take the fall for their own faults. This was natural.

With that one look around, Molly saw anger, hatred, disgust, revulsion, horror, and pity along with a slew of other emotions which she saw to be directed at Harry, and not her, sadness, pity, compassion, empathy, and horror.

Before she Disapparated, Harry left her with some last parting words, making sure that no one other than her would hear them.

"It's your turn to be screwed over."

After that... charming incident, Harry considered himself to be in quite a foul mood. It wasn't everyday one learned that they'd been jerked around by; their two best friends, the headmaster, and the woman who'd practically been a surrogate mother to him. Maybe, that was why he was so acutely angry. These people weren't just a few random Hufflepuffs he'd said hello to in the halls that had done this. These people were his life. These people had kept him afloat in the worst moments in his life. These people had betrayed him, that's why it had been so agonizing. He'd shared a lot with them, the best and worst times of his existence.

And those were the things they'd taken advantage of, his weaknesses, his strengths, they'd taken everything he'd had to offer and then demanded more. They were like Dementors, the lot of them. They'd sucked the happiness right out of him, the joy he'd once felt in being a wizard; drained dry and left out in the sun to bake.

Luna had been the water in his desert heat, and more recently Neville had as well. Without them, Harry feared the things he might have done, not only to others, but to himself as well. When he'd been immersed in his own pit of despair, and digging himself deeper every day, he'd considered some dark things. Things that, if they had worked, wouldn't have produced a winner on either side. Just caused irreparable damage to the ones he loved, and possibly killed him, had he been successful. In those moments, he'd never been more tempted to use those newfound skills he'd received in conjuring, to produce something... sharp. And cutting.

They'd pulled him out of his, dragged Harry's head up from where he'd been drowning so that the first breaths of fresh air in what seemed like forever filled his lungs. They'd been the guiding presence, holding his hand and leading him out of the darkness. For every day they spent, just talking, he was grateful. They would probably never know how much they'd done for him, it was something Harry planned on spending the rest of his days thanking the two of them for.

It took quite a while for the crowd to disperse, but eventually Harry was able to pierce through a temporary gap, and plunge through the barrier. What he saw surprised him, it was a suspiciously large number of Order members just fifty feet in front of him, across from barrier.

They appeared to be there to greet him. There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking menacing as ever, a large bowler hat had been pulled down over his magical eye, though Harry doubted the man would have any troubles seeing out of it. Tonk's with her signature bright bubble-gum- pink hair, and Lupin standing next to her looking a bit worse for wear. His face pale and wearing a long threadbare overcoat. Spearheading them were the two Weasley twins; Fred and George. Both seemed to be bursting with excitement, and a dark look of anticipation roved their features. Something about their faces reminded Harry of the day Mr. Weasley and the twins had come to take him to the world cup, right before they'd pranked Dudley.

This could go two ways, he decided, badly for him, or... interesting if he managed to point out the Dursley's to them.

Lupin smiled warmly, "Hello, Harry."

Harry observed him warily, wondering if the older man was going to try and force him to return home with the Dursley's.

"Hello, Moony. I didn't expect to see you all here."

"Well," Moony smiled, a sharp smile that showed a bit of teeth, Harry might have imagined it but he thought the other's eyes might have had an amber spark in them. It set his teeth on edge.

"Well thought we might have a... little... chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home." Harry said nothing, if they wished to believe he'd return home with those people he'd let them keep right on believing it until the day they died. He wasn't going near those sorry excuses for people, much less, he wouldn't have touched them with a fifty foot pole wearing a biohazard suit.

Moody limped forward, gruffly growling out," That'll be them, will it, Potter." and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Harry smiled kindly, "Just follow the stench of fat, gossip, and drills and it'll lead you right to their little hell hole."

Remus looked shocked at his language, both the twins snorted, but Moody just growled again and said, "Shall we do this then Arthur."

Mr. Weasley nodded enthusiastically, crossing the station floor over towards Vernon Dursley, approaching the man and taking his hand enthusiastically in a hand shake that Harry suspected would have been a long time coming from his... uncle.

"Good afternoon, you might remember me from last year, my name's Arthur Weasley."

Vernon went red, then purple, then a deeper shade of puce, and glared at Mr. Weasley, no doubt remembering the other demolishing the living room just a year previously. Aunt Petunia looked horrified and Harry was heavily amused to see the way her eyes kept darting around the station like a trapped mouse searching for escape. More likely she was searching around for people she knew, God help her if the neighbors ever caught a glimpse of her standing in such... ill reputable company. Dudley, the baby whale, had his hands pressed against his bottom, and was trying to hide behind his mother. Which was a lot like an elephant trying to hide behind a giraffe. Amusing, but entirely ineffective.

"We wanted to have a few words, Dursley," Mad-Eye intonted gruffly, "about how he's to be treated when he's in your house."

Vernon seemed to draw himself up to his full height, "I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house-" the man sounded almost haughty.

Moody growled, cutting his uncle off, and Vernon looked shocked, as though he couldn't believe anyone would ever have the gall to actually growl at him.

"I expect what you're not aware of would fill several libraries, muggle." grunted the ex-Auror.

George snorted, "Good one, Moody, don't you think, Fred?"

"Oh, absolutely, George, I mean I was just telling you yes-"

"Actually," Tonk's interjected, "we haven't come here about that, the point is, that if we found out that you've been being awful to Harry..."

"and you can be assured that we'll hear about it." Lupin said

"Of course, we will!" said Fred now, indignantly.

"We wizards-"

Aunt Petunia whimpered.

"Have our ways!"

"And it's not just wizards," George, or was it Fred continued on blithely.

"There are sooo many, many, man-"

"many, many, many,"

"MANY worse things out there!" they finished in unison, with identical devious Cheshire cat like grins.

"I mean where do I start, Gred?!"

"Well, Forge, there are centaurs, and vampire, and goblin, and gremlins, and dementors, and dragons and doxies and boggarts and billy-wigs, and hippogrifs and hortlumps an-"

"Of course," Mr. Weasley said brightly apparently completely ignoring his sons, who continued in their tirade of magical beings "even if you won't allow Harry to talk to us on the trellly-telly-fellytone we'll know. Now that... now that his godfather has tragically passed on we must assure ourselves that Harry's being well treated at your house."

Fred and George continued on in their list, questioning whether flobberworms were a threat.

"And if we get even a hint that Potter's being mistreated in any way, you'll have us to deal with."

Outrage seemed to envelop Vernon, his mustache seemed to do a little jig of rage.

"Are you threatening me with bodily harm, sir." the man said it so loudly two people just exiting trains turned to stare.

"Why yes I am Dursley,"

Moody looked pleased, whether was because Harry's uncle could understand three syllable words, or pleased that a muggle like Harry's uncle had grasped the, rather obvious, fact of what Moody might to him so quickly, especially with a mind as... special (like the muggles called it) as Vernon's.

Vernon sneered contemptuously, "And I you think I'm the kind of man who can be easily threatened?" he demanded.

Moody looked up at him, tilting his bowler hat back, so that his revolving magical eye was put into light. Only to see Vernon leap backwards with a shout of terror and collide with a passerby's trolley. Eliciting a number of stares and complaints from others.

Moody looked a mixture of amused and smug. And as the Order members said their goodbyes quietly Harry glanced at his three relatives. Aunt Petunia seemed to be having a staring match between herself and Tonk's electric pink bubble gum hair. Something which seemed to offend the woman to her core. Dudley still looked terrified, but was turning piggy eyes toward Harry that reflected anger. And Vernon, well, he looked completely enraged, his face was already purple. Once the Order members were gone (Gred and Forge both "kindly" waving goodbye to Dudley as well) he rounded on Harry.

"Got your godfather killed now did you, well you know what I say to that. Good riddance! The world needs as much of your kind dead as possible! I hope that mad man took a whole trove of your lot with-" abruptly the man cut the words draining from his mouth like a faucet. A gurgling choking noise was coming from Vernon's mouth, his face turned an awful magenta color, and the rotund man's mouth made fish faces as he gasped for air. Finally Vernon noticed that his nephew's eyes were glowing, and a slight sheen seemed to surround him. Nothing that anyone more than a pace away would notice, but the air seemed to warp around the boy, like when heat rose off the pavement in waves making one's vision go blurry.

"I don't appreciate you talking about my godfather that way, Vernon." his uncle's only response were more desperate gasping noises as his attempts to breath in the oxygen his body so urgently craved. To his right Dudley was watching horror struck, and on the left Harry was sure that Petunia would have collapsed into shrieks and sobs of terror had she not been clutching her son so tightly.

They were making quite the scene on the platform. Although the Order members were long gone, pedestrians were opening staring at the four of them. And Harry knew it was only a matter of time before Petunia became screaming. So Harry took in a deep breath, trying to control the anger he felt, reigning it all back in with his last ounce of control. Eventually Vernon stopped gasping, and his face died down to his natural red faced complexion, the trembling throughout his body stopped, and Harry calmly turned to the crowd that had begun to form,

"My uncle has had a seizure! Someone call an ambulance!"

He himself knelt down to Vernon's side where he'd collapsed on to the concrete station floor, all around him the green eyed teen saw a variety of frantic feet running around in his vision. All rushing to call an ambulance or a doctor or the police, he'd told them to do something and now they were doing it; sheep. Muggles really did have a lot in common with wizards, although Harry knew that many wizards would have been murderous to hear such a thing.

Harry wasn't yet done with his uncle, "Do I look to be a person who can be easily intimidated, Vernon?" there was no response, unless you counted a mixture of helpless gasping and whimpering a reply.

"You should be thankful, in the wizarding world you're nothing, not on the same level as a human being, you're an ant to crushed underfoot. Maybe it's time I've started taking the wizarding perspective on muggles." he paused. Looking his uncle in the eyes.

"Because just a few hundred years ago I could have killed you without any repercussions on my person. But now... now I'm going to obliterate you, Uncle, and I'm going to do it in your own world, after all you and your family as my relatives deserve nothing more than my undivided attention."

Grimmauld Place, was lonely.

This was a fact something felt even more acutely now that he was completely alone. Dimly remembering back to the Christmas holidays when Sirius had trampled around his family home, bellowing out God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriff and the top of his lungs. At the time the emerald eyed teen had been experiencing mixed emotions, on one hand being relieved at Sirius change in character and overjoyed that the elder man seemed just as enthusiastic about his godson staying with him as Harry had been.

On the other hand Harry felt an inescapable need to drive a blow into Sirius head, to get his godfather to shut up! Because now both he, the rest of Number 12, and most of the dead in their graves knew what hell sounded like.

And he'd loved every moment of it. Those precious few weeks that they'd spent together was something Harry would never get back.

He was exhausted, putting his trunk away took seconds, and collapsing into bed took even less time. Harry was in Sirius' room, he couldn't bear to go back to the one he and Ron had shared over summer.

Curling up in large bed he felt right at home, surrounded by Gryffindor banners and colors, with Quidditch posters decorating the walls. And it was with a mixture of sadness, that Harry discovered everything in Sirius' room seemed to smell like him. Like a mixture of vanilla and nutmeg, gentle but with a kick to it, that reminded him painfully of the other man.

He didn't want to think about that, didn't want to think at all really. The past few days had been far too eventful for him to consider, and he could spare twelve hours before finally addressing them, and the effects they'd have on his life.

Dozing off on the large bed, the messy haired boy couldn't prevent his problems from tumbling around in his head. It felt like they'd taken up a permanent residence there without waiting for him to make a lease, Harry wished he could give them a thirty day notice.

And despite all the activity going on upstairs, Harry's emerald eyes slowly but surely slipped shut, and his mind tumbled into oblivion. Oblivion, apparently suited his brain, as it almost instantly set to work on his problems. Taking him back...

_Dumbledore's office had been repaired to its original state, it had been as if the confrontation with Harry Potter had never even occured. Every broke fixture and ornament had been repaired, and there were no traces of any damage._

_The Headmaster had summoned him after the feast, Harry hadn't wanted to go but the man had practically accosted him on his way out of the Great Hall, inviting him up for tea. Again. It had been a repeating occurrence over the past few days. Harry hadn't particularly enjoyed tea before his encounters with the Headmaster but now he hated the watery substance with a fierce passion. And those damn lemon drops he offered to everyone within a one mile radius, those lemon drops Harry would swear up and down had been spiked worse than punch on a muggle's prom night._

_There was no way in hell that stuff was just muggle candy, and if it was then Dumbledore was Big Bird, he was Elmo, and when Voldemort joined the party he could be the Cookie Monster._

_"Tea, Harry my boy?"_

_"No, thank you Headmaster." stop calling me 'my boy'... it's creepy, people might get the wrong idea._

_Dumbledore sighed, gazing down at Harry from overtop his half moon spectacles. His blue twinkling eyes were disappointed._

_Harry coughed._

_Made a point of checking his watch._

_"Well, Headmaster, it's getting kind of late and the train leaves for King's Cross tomorrow..." he hinted not so subtly, "maybe it's time that I turned into bed."_

_Finally the wizard spoke._

_"Harry I had hoped by now that you had had a chance to reconsider your position since the time we spoke in my office after that tragic event at the Ministry."_

_He looked up, a flicker of true confusion tumbling into him._

_"My position, Professor? What do you mean by that exactly?" _

_This time it was Dumbledore's turn to view him with confusion, a grandfatherly expression of patience gently calming his features._

_"Well, my dear boy," again, people, wrong idea, is any of this being picked up on your Legilimency scans, "after recent negative events in the Wizarding World concerning Lord Voldemort I would have assumed that you'd want to speak to me about your future, Harry." nope not a not a word._

_"I'm sorry sir, but I'm not entirely sure I understand. What is negative about the recent events? Haven't you been reading the Prophet? Voldemort is saving wizarding kind, he's setting up new institutions to protect us." Harry's voice was faintly sarcastic, whether this was directed at Dumbledore or Voldemort the Headmaster was unsure._

_"Mr. Potter, for your own safety I wish for you to return to the Dursley's this summer."_

_"Well, I apologize Professor but I'm afraid i don't understand what concern it is of yours whether or not I return to those people."_

_Dumbledore served him with a grandfatherly smile, eyes twinkling over his glasses._

_"Harry, my boy as your Headmaster it is my job to look out for my students-"_

_"When said students are under your care Professor however during the summer months I do not reside in Hogwart's, and I'm afraid you have no authority in providing me with a summer placement. You may, by all means make suggestions, however it will be my decision whether or not to take them."_

_A brief flash of... something crossed Dumbledore's eyes. Harry wasn't positively sure of what, surprise or anger maybe, that he wasn't so easily cowed into accepting thinly veiled demands._

_"Harry, I must insist then that you take my request. After the Ministry was usurped by Voldemort it is very possible that you may be on the top of his list. Harry," Dumbledore's eyes pleaded for understanding, "be reasonable, Tom has named himself Minister for Magic, with no opposition posed by the Ministry, which he has corrupted, or the Wizengamot. I was unable to prevent him from taking over the position, as my position as Head Mugwump was taken from me. I was sacked, Harry." the former Transfiguration teacher looked balefully at him, as though he expected the fifth year before him to do something about it._

_ After all it should be every fifteen year old Gryffindor's job to rescue fully grown wizards from being fired from their jobs, and while their at it to save the wizarding world from the new Minister. Who had yet, as far as anyone was aware, to begin any sort of Muggle genocide._

_Quite simply put, Dumbledore had no power. And no means to get that power._

_The Headmaster's expression hardened, "Mr. Potter, let me present this plainly to you; the blood wards around your aunt and uncles house of Number 4, Privet Drive need to be renewed once a year. This means that you must return so that the blood wards protecting you and your relatives there can remain in place. If you were not to return for the summer, the wards would fall within a week, and your whereabouts would be made known to every enemy of yours on the planet. Death Eaters, Voldemort they would all have access to not only you but to your family as well, Harry. They would torture, and kill all of them, burn the house to the ground, and then poison the soil so that nothing would ever grow there again."_

_The man seated before him had finally cracked up. Did he really not understand? Harry didn't care. Well, that was a lie. If Voldemort was selling tickets to the show, he'd be very interested. Somehow, he didn't think that would go over well with the Headmaster._

_He decided to make it painfully clear to the other exactly what his feelings were on the subject of his abusive, so-called relatives._

_"Headmaster, I'm not entirely sure we're speaking of the same people. We are talking about Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley. My relatives. My uncle, aunt, and cousin. The very same people who locked me in a cupboard for the first ten years of my life, treated me like Malfoy treats his houselves, making me cook for them, clean up their trash, have no real possessions of my own that weren't Dudley's cast offs, putting up with their neglect, their abuse for fourteen years. These are the people you're talking about, correct?"_

_But still, the man interjected, "Harry, my dear boy please don't exaggerate while the Dursley's may not be your favorite people they are still the very same relatives who-"_

_"Starved me, locked me in a cupboard underneath the stairs for weeks on end, physically, emotionally, and verbally abused me my entire life, yes, Dumbledore those are the people I'm speaking of. No exaggeration." He ignored the Professor's hurt denials, indignant exclamation, but it was the requests for him to speak rationally that destroyed what little patience he'd retained._

_A speech was in order._

_"Headmaster, had you asked me a week ago how many people in the world I truly hated I would have been able to list every person off on a single hand. Now a week later that number has changed significantly and I suspect that over the course of the next week that number will continue growing._

_Earlier you implied a question, when you said that my relatives were there, you were wondering if I would truly leave them to die at Voldemort's Death Eater's hands. I assume that before you felt the answer to be rhetorical, that you truly believed that I would never let any harm befall to those vile people because we, by some misfortune on my part, happen to be of the same blood._

_It's a noble concept, and Muggles believe chivalry to be dead. So, I'll ask you a question in return, Dumbledore. Why am I being held to standards you don't even apply to yourself? After all you did leave a child on the footstep of magical hating bigots, how did you think that would work out for me? You want me to worry for them don't you, to believe that if I don't return back to that abusive household they'll die. That Voldemort will slaughter them like pigs, well I'll let you in on a few secrets... Professor." Harry sneered the title._

_"I hope that the Minister kills the, slaughters them just as the pigs they are. And since I'm such a noble and good person how do you know I wasn't planning to do something similar to those people."_

_Harry put both hands on the Headmaster's desk, utterly aware of the eyes of the portraits on the wall crawling over his frame, with varying ranges of shock, disgust, and horror. It was then he said his parting words._

_ "Do you want to know what I say Dumbledore?"_

_I say let them burn." _

At some point during this memory, things began to go foggy. Voices began to meld together and combine, like a twisted version of melted cheese, they all swirled together until Harry lost all recognition between reality and memory. Dumbledore's office swirled, Fawkes on his stand stood out as a bright red swirl in his vision.

Along with the office blurring out of his sight came another chamber, a place that dimly caused a sputter and spark of recognition to flare in his mind. It was the Ministry Atrium. Filled to the brim with reporters, the leeches had scented blood and were going for the jugular.

"So, Minister how do you explain the current overspending the Ministry has taken over the last week, we are going far over budget for the month?" said some nameless reporter.

It was Voldemort on stage, with his new look, speaking as Minister.

However it was though Voldemort's eyes that Harry was looking out from.

It was strange, Harry thought, looking out from another's eyes, without pain. Because that's what a vision from Voldemort meant, but instead the new Minister wasn't angry, or even happy, but content to answer the reporters. He was humoring them, Harry realized.

"Yes, Mr. Goldstein I am going over the previous Ministry's approved spending budget for the quarter, however yesterday I recently proposed to the Wizengamot a new spending budget for the Ministry. This budget which was passed by the Supreme Mugwump just recently, and will soon be released to the public."

Another reporter butted in, "How are you going to use the increased spending budget to benefit the wizarding public?"

Riddle replied steadily, "As you all have seen from the Daily Prophet recently, I'm currently using the new incoming money towards the erecting of new establishments and the protection of the wizarding world."

The reporters scented that the new ruler of the wizarding world wasn't granting them full disclosure.

"Can you elaborate to exactly what you're doing for the wizarding world in regards to protecting and erecting said establishments."

"Certainly, currently throughout the wizarding world there are no magical orphanages, though every year there murders and deaths throughout the wizarding world which leave children without parents. And if these children have no relatives to speak of, where do you assume they find residence. In muggle orphanages. Magical children, pureblood, and halfblood children are being sent to muggle orphanages. And so I would ask you a question, what do you believe happens to those children when they begin displaying magical accidents. How do you imagine those children will be treated by their muggle caretakers? After all muggles are well known for their understanding, just look at the past one hundred years. There have been two major wars throughout the entire world which ended in the deaths of millions of both civilians and soldiers."

"Are you implying that wizarding children are neglected or abused by their muggle caretakers?" the demand came rapid fire, from Mr. Goldstein again.

Riddle looked at him coldly, "No, Mr. Goldstein I'm not implying or insinuating that magical children are abused by muggles, I'm saying that it is a fact, and one that is occurring right at this moment."

"And do you have any evidence of this Minister?" You could practically feel the reporters lean in, scenting blood in the water.

Tom's expression was frosty, but there was a hint of triumph in his deep blue eyes.

"Actually, I believe that you are already acquainted with the person in question. You know him as Harry Potter; the Boy-Who-Lived."

The leeches went crazy, transforming into piranhas scuttling among themselves searching for a piece of meat to strip to the bone. Camera flashes went off, quills scratched furiously, and several forms raced to the fireplaces to put in a call with their superiors demanding to have the next day's front page displaying the news that Harry Potter; the Boy-Who-Lived had been abused by muggles. Others tried shouting questions above the din that had been created.

"-evidence supporting-"

"-rageous claims against the Boy-Who-"

"-slander against the Potter nam-"

"-damaging medical effects on the young Mr. Potte-"

"SILENCE!" it wasn't that Voldemort had shouted, previously he'd had no need to raise his voice to speak above the reporters, they were still frightened of him. But it appeared that news of recent events had superseded their terror of the previous Dark Lord.

The dark haired man had instead implemented the Sonorous Charm to regain his press conferences attention. All conversation had ceased, some of the reporters heads still in their fireplaces, others with Quick Note Quills still poised in the air, all eyes focused on the wizard before them.

Their eyes followed the former Dark Lord warily, fearful they were about to be Crucioed at the drop of a hat.

"I have also instituted a new series of wards around all magical cities and institutions. These wards are to include protective measures with common spells such as Muggle Repelling, however the new series of protective wards will include several layers. These layers will include an outer shell which is meant to guarantee safety from muggle attacks, and to aid in the secrecy of the wizarding world with memory charms.

The second layer is meant to protect each and every home inside the city, this protective layer would guard against unwanted intruders who wish to cause the house's occupants undue harm. It is a protection against fellow wizards. The final protective layer is a final defense mechanism which would institute a series of lockdowns should any of the other wards both be breached. This would only occur where an attack is either likely or already being carried out.

Children would be Apparated instantly as long as they were in the city to our nearest allies around the world, and the adults would follow until the only remaining thing left open to attack is a ghost town.

We live in a time of modern unsecurity, however it is with these measures that we are able to protect ourselves. We have grown complacent in the past hundred years, believing nothing from the outside could penetrate our barriers. We have left ourselves open for attack, whether this be an attack from outside or from within. The very institutions put in place to protect us have become corrupt, and unreliable. If we wish to preserve ourselves then we should protect our foundations so they do not crumble.

The foundation of our world is our future. The future are the children, whether they study at Hogwart's or abroad, these are our future leaders. Our future Aurors and department heads, without them we would crumble to dust in the wake of our own uncertainties. It is time that we looked forward to the future without prejudice.

"This is only the beginning."

* * *

AN- Oh my gosh! Was that as corny as it sounded? I hope not! I know that Voldemort seems quite AU however I think that he is quite within his means during the speech. Since Harry's had access to Tom's mind without his knowing why shouldn't Tom have had that same privilege (remember Tom was not aware of Harry's presence in his mind for quite a while) and thus there is no reason he shouldn't be aware of Harry's abuse at the Dursley's hands, and Tom himself grew up in an orphanage so I would think he'd feel quite strongly about the subject.

And as for the ward implementation I really don't understand why they wouldn't have something like it! It seems quite logical and only a few steps: protection from the outside, protection from the inside, and as a final resort; to get the children to safety and then the adults so that the enemy is rendered useless when they attack an empty city. It's almost like what they did in Europe during WW2; got all the children away to safety, and turn off all the lights so that the Germans were unable to see city lights and thus unable to bomb them with a strong amount of accuracy.

Long authors note (I know) thank you all!

Please review review review!

Your friend in time,

*Kasamira


	6. Chapter 6

AN- Ok my lords and ladies I absolutely have to share these quotes with you (I"ve recently been watching Supernatural)

Holy Lord of the Rings!

Just think to yourself WWBD: What would Buffy Do?

A huge thanks to Slytherin66 for all the wonderful advice and ideas!

And just a disclaimer for the fat jokes below: I mean no insult to any person who is considered overweight or obese this is purely intended to insult Vernon Dursley and not anyone else.

And I'm sorry if there are any legal inaccuracies in this, but hey, its fanfiction, and I'm not a law student yet.

Dursley Outtake: The Dursley's Getting Theirs

The Dursley's of Number 4, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

These Dursley's were a strange lot, more than a decade and a half ago two of them had moved into Number 4 and taken up residence there. The two adults living there consisted of a tall skinny woman, with the longest neck in Surrey. The husband was average in height, and the size of a small elephant... without the muscle.

Over the course of several years there had been a new addition to the family... a baby boy, who was named Dudley, the boy soon showed to take after his elephant father. Taking on his parents qualities in addition to their physical characteristics. Both negative marks against the child.

But, like in every suburban household, imminent change was about. And this time it was in the form of a small bundle of cloth, placed about the Dursley's porch fifteen years ago. A child, one with brilliant emerald eyes and chubby cheeks, a child that had changed the world forever.

Little did young Harry Potter know, but his world was going to be irrevocably altered.

Fifteen years later, in that very house, things were much the same as they'd been a decade and a half ago. Mrs. Dursley still craned her impossibly long neck over fences, still peered through curtains desperate to get a glimpse of the neighbors personal affairds. She would have fit right in with Lavender Brown and Parviti Patil in the Hogwart's gossip grapevine.

The giraffe like woman's specialty was blackmail; she viewed her neighbors like chickens. Useful while they were alive; providing eggs of information and some sort of amusement, when they clucked around to each other frantically. But it was so much better when they died, with their heads chopped off, running around like... well, a headless chicken. She could sit back and watch the chaos she'd created. Ruined marriages were her pride and joy.

Mr. Dursley spent his days at his company; Grunnings, shouting, purple-faced at anything that moved and firing anything that talked. And as the branch manager, Vernon was able to do this without much discourse. Having such power over others seemed to encourage, and increase, every altercation with other staff members. So it was with a sense of pride that Mr. Dursley concluded; he was untouchable, at work. So if he chose to skim a little bit from the financial reports every quarter before the reports were publically shown... what was going to happen?

Dudley, taking after his parents, used a mixture of both their methods. His father's shouting was employed when at school, and Dudley took everything a step further, managing to physically persuade most children to listen to him. And, had the physical persuasion, usually employed multiple times, failed to work then his mother's methods were put to work. Spying, gossiping, blackmailing Dudley was able to trash the reputations of his classmates before physically hurting them.

Everything was simply wonderful for each one of them. Mr. Dursley made deadlines (and skimmed a little extra), Mrs. Dursley ruined her neighbor, Mrs. Jameson', marriage with a few, well placed, remarks about Mr. Jameson's "extracurricular" activities and how they might affect the children, and Mrs. Jameson's reputation should it get out.

Things were wonderfully resolved, and Mrs. Dursley got a few things in return for such good information. Dudley was flourishing in school, just yesterday he'd had an informative confrontation in the Smelting halls which had resulted in a broken nose, bloody lips, and cracked ribs for the other party. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were enraged when their son came home with bloody knuckles, the poor child had been hurt, and threatened to sue the school, and the other boy's parents.

Things turned out quite differently the next day when Mrs. Petunia Dursley was at a "tea party" with a few of her "friends," the postal service had decided to be extra helpful today, and brought the mail into the house for them.

Mrs. Dursley had been quite insulted. Here was this common delivery man interrupting their social gathering, it was insulting, for him to believe he could just waltz right in here and deliver his letters.

"Well, Ma'am I do apologize for interrupting your," he glanced around, "... tea party. However the sender of this letter requested that I deliver it personally." the mailman handed it to her.

Petunia sniffed, "Well, now that you've delivered the letter..." she obviously expected him to leave, but just didn't want to say something so rude in front of her "friends".

The man stayed put.

Petunia glared, but proceeded to open her letter, observing the thick creamy paper; expensive. Her interest was raised, and the man finally left, with a few parting words.

"You've been served."

It really was quite interesting that at that exact moment, about thirty miles away, the exact same words were being spoken to her husband. However, he reacted with a much different attitude. There was quite a scene, Vernon attacking that poor man, purple faced and shouting threats of wringing his neck for what he'd done. It took four people to hold his meaty walrus body back, however no one was able to stop the spurting cries of rage that came from his mustache. By the time Mr. Dursley had calmed down his holders had been covered in a thin film of sweat and spit from their captive.

-page break-

When Dudley arrived home from school he came to see his pale faced mother frantically pushing buttons on the home phone, jabbering on about Mr. Dursley. Who apparently hadn't returned home from work.

Two hours later Mr. Dursley came home. He was escorted by a pair of gruff police officers, flashing red and blue lights, and a siren. The two officers had to physically drag Vernon, who was, quite literally, kicking and screaming, all the way into Number 4, shouting things like.

"Do you know who I am?!"

"You can't do this!"

"This is assault! I"m going to sue!"

and,

"PETUNIA! CALL THE POLICE!"

The man, spraying spittle, and bellowing for his wife managed to drag nearly every person within a half a mile radius out of their houses to witness the sight.

It was Vernon Dursley, the man a size of a fully grown walrus with the whiskers to boot, face blazing red with rage, in zip ties (for handcuffs hadn't been able to fit around his massive fat laden wrists) being dragged by two burly police officers towards Number 4.

Naturally quite a few photos, videos, and snapshots were taken on the spot. Unsurprisingly within the hour half of them were on the Internet, with captions such as:

_SQUEAL PIGGY SQUEAL!_

_This guy was so impressed with his first chin he decided to add a few dozen more_

_and,_

_This guy buy's clothes in three sizes: extra large, jumbo, and oh-my-God-it's-coming-towards-us!_

Thankfully for the sake of Petunia and her son, all the time spent on the computer was used to blowing up aliens. Neither did Vernon know as he was far too busy raging about police brutality and how his court date was completely ridiculous, because all he had done was demanded to know why he was being fired.

Petunia had completely agreed with her husband, there was nothing he could have done that could have warranted him being terminated. But, nevertheless, chose to open the court summons, which stated Vernon was being brought up on charges of embezzlement of company funds worth over a quarter of a million pounds, along with workplace harassment, and aggravated assault of multiple police officers.

It was all ridiculous, preposterous, and shocking that Petunia had been given a court summons as well on a different charge; blackmail. Someone was alleging that she had threatened to reveal close personal secrets if she wasn't given free beauty treatments at the spa she went to every week.

At the bottom of each letter was a brief statement that said each crime they were being accused of was a felony, based on the severity they'd been caught doing it, and that Vernon was being sued not only by his company but also by the police department for assaulting the officers, and by three other employees at Grunnings for workplace harassment. Petunia was being sued by the worker of the spa she'd blackmailed, and was also informed that her crime was a felony.

There are several different felony classes, which are separated so that specific punishments can be carried out, per the region that one lives in. Vernon's offences were far more severe than Petunia's, and he was facing quite the hefty fine, termination from his company, and a large amount of jail time.

To make things worse, barely an hour later later the school principal called to inform them that after Dudley's altercation with another student, that other student had been in the hospital since the day before, and the parents were pressing charges. Charges of aggravated assault and battery.

They called their lawyer. It was one thing to bring the two adults up on charges but now their son! They'd had enough, it was time for the world to see what happened when someone wronged the Dursley's.

-page break-

Mr. McKins was staring. Wondering, if possibly this was a joke. It certainly sounded as though he was getting, what's the word the kids used today, punked or pranked. These two people had come into his office, demanding legal help, and referring to a contract that had exired over five years ago.

They'd been brought up on charges of blackmail, aggravated assault, aggravated assault and battery, workplace harassment, and several other things. And has decided to leave their, "Diddykins" outside in the waiting room. Mr. McKins had, at first, assumed that... Diddykins was their dog. Only to find later that it was actually a child... a very large child being charged with a very serious crime.

From what these people had told him, it sounded as though they were... well, screwed. Multiple witnesses to their crimes, an easy trail of paperwork for Mr. Durslely's embezzling crimes, video surveillance in the school where their son had beaten another child into the hospital, and he doubted they'd have any character witnesses.

The best he could hope to give them was legal counsel, he certainly didn't want to represent them, that the best choice they could make was pleading guilty, so they could then ascertain in court the remorse they felt for their crimes in order to get a suspended sentence.

The prosecution would use their child against them, pointing out the charges on the small-youngest Dursley as evidence for Child Services to remove not only the child from their care, but press for a maximum sentence. Probably pointing out that Vernon had worked for Grunnings for over ten years and appeared to have been stealing from them for just as long.

Petunia apparently didn't have the most favorable reputation among the townspeople.

And Dudley appeared to spend most of his time bullying other children half his age, Mr. McKins would have wagered his yearly bonus that there was far more video surveillance of the youngest Dursley's crimes yet to be found.

In conclusion; he wasn't touching that with a twenty foot pole in a biohazard suit. It would have been the end of his promising career in the private sector, the equivalent of career suicide, he might as well have shown up in court dressed as Hermit the Frog and croaking non stop about Mrs. Piggie.

Though, he thought, gazing at the two people before him, he supposed Mrs. Dursley did that quite a lot, with Mr. Dursley. Really, the man could quite benefit from a low (low low low) carb diet, and maybe some gastric bypass surgery.

Needless to say, their session ended early. And security was alerted should they ever waddle their way back. Mr. McKinds didn't think the rotating doors could take another blow like that.

-page break-

The hearing came and went, and after it things began to proceed at a faster pace, it appeared as if the legal department was rushing the case, wanting to make an example out of the Dursley family.

The trial was short and sweet, something not many trials could claim to be, and each of the family's cases took place on right after the other. All of them went the same way. The charges were read, the prosecuting attorney was there, the defendant was present, both sides made their cases. Vernon had refused to plead guilty, so the man might as well have been a Chihuahua thrown into the Rottweiler pit... except for the obvious size ratio difference.

The prosecution had a field day. In total they had six different co workers of Vernon testify to the man often shouting at others, violating their personal space, and some had even witnessed the man striking others.

As for the embezzling, there was an obvious paper trail leading from the company's assets straight to Vernon's bank account. The prosecuting attorney levelled it was practically, "by magic" that Mr. Dursley hadn't been caught before.

Mr. Dursley chose, against his lawyers most fervent pleading, to testify on the stand, where the man actually managed to incriminate himself further. Going so far as to state that,

"if the company had paid him more perhaps he would have taken less."

"those snotty lazy good-for-nothing junior salesmen had it coming, and should be grateful I don't pop them another!"

and good old reliable,

"why can't you people see it's their fault! I haven't done anything I wasn't forced to do! BY THEM!"

The prosecution had neatly summed it up (this was his dream trial; the defendant confessing on the stand).

"So what you're contending, Mr. Dursley, is that if your company, Grunnings, had supplied you with a larger salary and your co workers had been less lazy and more hardworking you would not have been... forced to embezzle over a quarter of a million pounds, attack both verbally and physically your co workers? You wouldn't have assaulted several police officers later, and cause them injuries that required a hospital stay?"

The worst part was the Dursley actually seemed to agree with him and to not detect the dry sarcastic undertone to his assertions.

The closing statements were mercifully brief; the prosecution demanding Vernon be made an example of, the defending attorney requesting leniancy for his wife and son's sake.

The jury came back after half an hour.

Vernon was found guilty, amid shouting and screaming wails from Petunia in the back round, and sentenced to a total of fifteen years in prison and over fifty thousand pounds in fines and penalties for embezzlement.

The man was "escorted" out of the courtroom by two burly armed guards in handcuffs. Vernon left just as he had come in; kicking, and screaming, and swearing, and cursing at everyone within spitting distance.

Petunia's hearing and trial went much the same way. However when the woman was convicted of using force in addition to exhorting services and money she was sentenced to four years and a fine of ten thousand pounds.

After the sentencing she'd been taken away; pale faced and shaking, horror written plainly across her giraffe like face, searching the crowd for her son. Lips trembling, Petunia caught the eyes of her victim, a woman in her mid thirties with long brown hair. The spa woman, whose name Petunia had never bothered learning, looked at her sadly, catching where her gaze had gone.

-page break-

Marge Dursley was a burly woman. She bred dogs. That was really all the non committal things one could say about the woman. You could go on to describe her physical apperance in more depth by saying she was quite obese, about the same size as her nephew Dudley, with forearms the size of baby seals.

Her personality was unpleasant, that was putting it mildly. Her only love in the world was her dog; Ripper, her nephew Dudley, and her brother and sister in law. Once finding out about the travesty that the legal system had committed against her family Marge had immediately traveled to Surrey with Ripper, leaving Colonel Flood in charge of the dog farm.

The man really was too kind with the dogs but leaving them alone could have gotten he in trouble. Serve those dogs right, Marge thought, barking all night, thought killing that pup would have shut them up.

But, no instead it had increased, those beasts were becoming more vicious the longer she kept them. Thank God the buyers were lined up to get them faster than she could breed the mutts. Cutting a few corners had resolved that problem.

Dudley was such a good boy. Staying strong even when his parents had been hauled off to prison and he was about to go before the judge as a juvenile. To Marge it was obvious that damned lawyer wasn't doing his job.

No good, the lot of them! Educated held no place in society, good hardworking people like herself always got the short end of the stick. What was the problem with taking that stick and beating the system.

Vernon had done England a service, one he was being punished for.

Dudley was no different. Being brought up on charges of aggravated assault! It was ridiculous! That other boy was the bad egg, he's the one that needed discipline, Dudley was just showing that boy he wouldn't be pushed around. It was probably that darned other boy who was the bully. Dudley was the victim. Vernon would have been proud. Telling Dudley to "give him the old one, two."

Her brother had always been sentimental.

"Dudley's always been such a good boy," Marge had said during the trial, "I can tell you one thing though, it was that other brat who did this. Started it I mean. I guarantee you he's no good, picking on Dudley, my nephew was only defending himself. That specialist doesn't know what he's talking about, my Dudley was bullied and abused and now you're punishing him!"

Earlier in the trail a forensic specialist at the police department had asserted that the blows given to Dudley's victim, Jack Swift, had been delivered while Mr. Swift was in a defensive position. On the ground. And that the only injury given to Dudley had been split knuckles where he'd broken the child's nose.

Dudley's supposed friends; Malcolm and Piers had held the other child down while their leader Dudley had whaled away at the smaller boy.

Jack was ten. A child, who had been violently assaulted by three other boys who were more than twice his size and six years older. It hadn't been a fight, it had been a massacre. The child had nearly been killed, and based on the healing bruises on Jack's body this hadn't been the first beating he'd received at the hand of Dudley's gang.

Piers and Malcolm had testified against Dudely for a reduced sentence. Piers rat like physical characteristics had finally been displayed fully.

Marge had continued talking, "You see judge, it's just like with my dogs. It's all the mother's fault, it there's something wrong with the bitch then there's something wrong with the pup." the jury gazed at her with appalled eyes, that begged her to stop.

"I see it all the time with my dogs, it's a simple solution, drown them. Sometimes the whole litter, just put them in a sack and throw them in the river. Of course then their all down at the bottom of the creek, the best way to do it is to strangle them."

Marge lifted her meaty forearms, and the jury practically recoiled, "Most of the time I like to do it myself, mostly in front of the pups, I've got no tolerance for disobedience. Some of the people here could do with the same lesson I teach those dogs!"

Utter disgust couldn't even begin to describe the emotions on the jurors faces, because it was that, mixed with horror at every word coming from that oversized woman's mouth.

In the end Dudley had been given a choice, two years in a juvenile detention center, and then another five to ten an adult facility, or he could make something of his life. Dudley could spend the two years at a year round weight loss camp and then spend a further two years in prison.

Fat camp and two years prison vs. juvie and five to ten in an adult correctional facility.

Dudley's lawyer made the decision for him.

It was Marge that returned home to an empty house in Privet Drive, she returned to her brother's house amidst stares from the neighbors her sister in law had been so obsessed with.

Marge hadn't been in the house for more than a day, when another lawyer came. Only this time it was her receiving the legal papers, her being summoned to a court date, and her being accused of the most ridiculous crimes.

And over the next month it was Marge Dursley who would lose everything. After being convicted of animal abuse and another of other unseemly charges including animal cruelty and neglect that the woman lost everything.

The dog farm was raided by the police where the authorities discovered that not only was Marge an abusive dog owner but her breeding lisence had expired and she was illegally interbreeding litters which had caused a large amount of physical deformations in the pups that the woman had been drowning.

The conditions that the pups had lived through had been staggering, apparently Marge had failed to include that her dog; Ripper enjoyed... consuming the remains of the pups she'd strangled with her bare hands. They'd found hundreds of buried animal remains across the property. The woman was a serial killer.

Everything was taken from her, the remaining dogs that were alive were taken to animals shelters and given to good families who would take care of them. The pups that had been physically deformed and sold had been put into animal rescue and wellness programs targeted at helping abused animals. And all of the money that it took was at Marge's expense, all the fines that she'd tallied up for her animal cruelty charges were put towards helping the little beings who'd suffered at her hands.

As for Marge Dursley she was put into a women's correctional facility for the next five years, her bank accounts were drained of more than twenty thousand pounds and she still had to work to pay the thirty thousand pounds she still owed. Her accomplice in the animal cruelty Colonel Flood was also brought up on similar charges, and similarly convicted without contest.

In the end Marge had only hurt herself and the animals she was supposed to be nurturing.

In the final conclusion Vernon was in prison for next ten years at least, Petunia like Vernon was in prison for the near foreseeable future and under heavy fines with her husband, and Dudley had been sent off to fat camp. And once he turned eighteen would be sent to a correctional facility just like his parents.

And some of the jurors reflected that perhaps the parents should have been brought up on charges of abuse of their son Dudley, who was, to the harshest degree a product of his environment.

Most of the jurors hoped that this didn't solve that age old question of nature versus nurture, because surely there couldn't be anyone who had grown up in such an environment of instigated and encouraged abuse, like in the Dursley household, that could remain undamaged by it.

They could only hope that such a person growing up there would retain some sort of morals, despite such a horrible social environment.

Even though all evidence pointed to the contrary many of the jurors hoped, against hope, that in the end nature would win out.

-page break-

About a hundred miles away Molly Weasley was in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, when a young man came up to her, and proceeded to supply her with a letter. It was of thick parchment, the expensive kind, and once she had accepted it he leaned in to give her a single parting phrase.

"You've been served."

AN- Hello my wonderful lords and ladies, I must apologize for not getting this out sooner. The power (but more importantly) and my wifi has been down the past few days, it came on yesterday and I had a few things to touch up on this before I posted it.

So to all of my wonderful reviewers and viewers I hope you enjoyed the Dursley Outtake, and I apologize for not going into the psychological aspects of the Dursley incarceration either in Dudley's mind or in Harry's but I'm not a psychiatrist so I put everything in 3rd person POV.

Don't forget to REVIEW! I've almost broken 60 reviews now! Thank you so so much!

P.S. Just saw this on youtube: www .youtube watch?v=U5 don9ACZEI (take out the spaces)

It's the Harry Potter cast saying their favorite lines from the movie my favorite is Scabiors: Hello, beautiful, oh and of COURSE Voldemort's was genius: I can touch you now! Hilarious.

You friend in time,

*Kasamira


	7. Chapter 7: Horcrux

Hello one and all, to my lovely lords and ladies! It's wonderful to hear and see (at least in typing form) from all of you, I'll get right down to it this time :) Here is the latest chapter:

P.S./Disclaimer: I don't own this stuff get your facts straight!

* * *

With a title like Dark Lord, Harry would have expected more subtly. He felt like Petunia, peering through the gaps in the curtains to spy on the neighbors, never mind that his neighbors were Death Eaters, and they were attempting to catch him on his unawares.

Honestly, it was obvious, even the muggles should have recognized that there was something just A BIT creepy about the two cloaked figures who stood on the corner of the street exactly one house down from Number 12. So that it was impossible to LEAVE Number 12 without being noticed.

If HE was a muggle he wouldn't have sent his children out to play while to creepers were in such close vicinity; what is they were murderers, child kidnappers, pedephiles, rapists!?

He hadn't left the house in over a week, and now was truly beginning to feel how insane Sirius had begun to feel inside this house. It was claustrophobic, dark, musky; prime breeding grounds for bubonic plague version two point zero.

Harry was getting paranoid. It wasn't enough that each night he was constantly being assaulted by dreams and visions of Voldemort as Minister doing a variety of things. Signing new bills, speaking in front of crowds of reporters, sentencing people to Azkaban for crimes against magic. The most jarring turn of events (for Dumbledore) was that Riddle was completely justified in every move he made.

He signed bills which erected the foundations for equality between purebloods and halfbloods in the magical world. Speaking in front of large crowds detailing the progress he'd made with the three step ward program and it's effectiveness against larger magical creatures such as dragons and manticores (without causing them harm and only with their express permission of course).

He had sentenced three of his own Death Eaters to Azkaban, not for crimes they'd committed ten years ago but for more recent ones, MacNair had gone to Azkaban for "deadly crimes against a series of magical beings and creatures," in muggle terms, he was a budding psychopath who enjoyed killing puppies.

Dumbledore himself was, it seemed, the only one speaking out against Riddle as Minister. However unlike Tom, he hadn't submitted to a variety of press conferences which detailed out both Tom's long term and short term goals.

Dumbledore claimed that the facade Tom showed the world, was just that, a facade. Something to hide the monster beneath, and yes, Dumbledore had called the Minister for Magic a monster in front of a sea of reporters.

Just like the summer before Harry's fifth year, Dumbledore was being trashed, being called anti-progressive, anti-pro-creatures, anti-pro-beings and alot of other confusing names which appeared to mean basically the same thing. Dumbledore's done, his career is dead and in the ground. It's time to move forward with the times.

Voldemort had managed to do the impossible, he'd managed to turn the entire wizarding world against their icon in less than a month. He did it through fear, Harry realized, because all the people of the wizarding world had expected to be under harsh new laws with Voldemort's rise, and for all the muggleborns and half bloods to have been rooted out and killed. It would have been genocide.

Tom had used that fear against them, holding on to the last tendrils so that there was still a VERY healthy amount of fear/respect for the Minister, but also to get everything he put in front of the Wizengamot passed.

It just so happened that the wizarding world was very happy with the new additions to their laws. A happy coincidence, I'm sure.

But still, no matter how many times Harry rolled it over in his head, there was still that nagging question. What did Voldemort want with him? What had the prophecy said? And less importantly; why was he having these visions? Without a doubt the green eyed teen disbelieved what Dumbledore had said back when he was a first year; that a piece of Voldemort had entered Harry that night in Godric's Hollow. How did that make any sense? what had the prophecy said?

Harry supposed it had to be important, and with the Floo blocked, being unable to Apparate, and unwilling to open his front door, there was only one solution to the growing list of questions he couldn't answer.

The library. More specifically the Black library.

Top to bottom, ceiling to floor, shelf to shelf, right to left; there was no way anyone could deny it.

The Black's had a lot of books.

They had so many books the library had to be magically extended and all the books had to be shrunk down to the size of a match box, which instantly regrew to it's original size after being taken off the shelf.

* * *

Harry must have gone through dozens of them. Hundreds maybe.

_Dark Arts for Beginners_

_Dark Arts for the Repressed_

_Magick Moste Evile_

_12,001 Prophecies of the Last Century and and In Depth Exploration of Their Meanings_

_98 Dark Rituals and Their Effects on Society_

But it was in _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ that Harry found something interesting, or at least pertained to his situation.

It was a large tome, bound in faded black leather, and contained precise instructions on several rituals Harry didn't even want to believe existed. It was published in 1487 and detailed the finer workings of a magical object called; a Horcrux.

The book began with an overview of the human soul, describing it as; _the center of our emotions, the storehouse for our memories, and the driving force behind our will to live. And claimed that without souls our bodies would be like husks, being both unable and unwilling to function._

The Dementors Kiss was a wonderful representation, Harry thought.

_A soul that is untouched and whole in life shall continue to be as such after death. However, a soul that is split in life and partially concealed outside the body in a Horcrux shall endure in life for so long as the Horcrux doth survive._

The way Mantheon spoke of it, having a Horcrux sounded more about managing to survive through life than really enjoying and living life to the fullest. As though having a Horcrux was something painful that needed to be endured through to arrive at the end game.

_The soul is an intangible entity that resideth within us all. It can not be measured or touched, and it can only be affected by certain circumstances. A soul can only be destroyed in one way, through digestion by a Dementor. However, the theory behind the Horcrux relieth on the one other proven method of affecting the soul. This other method of affecting the soul is through measured tears of the soul, creating an incision of which great advantage can be taken._

_These tears in the soul doth make it possible to excise a portion of the soul and encase it within an object, creating a Horcrux. So long as that Horcrux surviveth, its creator shall have eternal life. Fortunately, Horcruxes are nigh indestructible, only affected by some of the most dangerous substances and spells in existence._

This was soul magic. Through his previous research attempts Harry knew enough about soul magic to know it was related closely to blood magic. And all kinds of blood magic required a sacrifice behind it to power the spell; usually it was magical blood that had to be spilt. But with soul magic, the only requirement behind the sacrifice would have been that the object being sacrificed contained a soul; no magical blood required.

Harry swallowed, this text... he tried again, this text was speaking of splitting one's SOUL, of tearing it apart, and sticking it in some object. The way the author spoke you could almost envision the soul fragment latching onto its receptacle like a parasite, twisting its tendrils and becoming entangled enough to clutch on for dear life.

What would happen then, when the human body died, what would happen to the persons soul?

_To illustrate the difference between a soul fragment enclosed within a Horcrux and a soul in its natural and untouched state, a simple comparison can be made. The Horcrux and the human behave oppositely with regards to damage. A human, whilst incredibly easy to harm and destroy, suffereth no damage to the soul contained inside. However, the Horcrux, whilst rather difficult to harm and even more difficult to destroy, suffereth the greatest imaginable damage to the soul fragment contained inside. When a human suffereth death, the soul passeth on as is. When a Horcrux is destroyed, the soul fragment within ceaseth to exist. It doth not pass on to the afterlife; it doth not continue to exist in this world as a ghost. The soul fragment is destroyed utterly, as if by the Dementor's Kiss. Without the Horcrux, its creator is once again vulnerable to death._

It was immortality made attainable. But instead of it being through an elixir, or a serum, it was through this. This parasitical transformation. It was brilliant! It was disgusting. It was amazing. It was horrifying. It was something Harry fully expected Voldemort of doing.

What better way was there? Vampire blood perhaps... it would certainly slow the aging process by hundreds of years, but with its repeated... consumption, the partakers had a habit of... going insane.

From the conflicting reports of Voldemort between the past ten years and his attitude now that he'd taken over the Ministry, Harry didn't know what to believe.

_The quest for immortality is but a natural extension of the human drive to endure, to conquer death and continue on. Ghosts can tell us that there is an afterlife, and even the prospect of being a ghost is a sort of eternity. The alchemist's quest for the Philosopher's Stone, rumoured to have been achieved by Nicolas Flamel as recently as one hundred years ago, is yet another method of achieving the immortality desired by would-be conquerors of death. Even the mythical Deathly Hallows, supposedly created by Death himself, are said to make the man who unites them the Master of Death._

_So why, with so many methods (both real and myth) of achieving an eternal existence, would one elect to create a Horcrux in order to become immortal?_

_The answer is quite simple: the Horcrux is by far the most reliable method. It is true that becoming a ghost is more reliable for one who simply seeketh to persist, however ghosts are unable to affect the world around them and so are accordingly discounted from this debate. It is the need; the instinct to survive that drives people to create Horcruxes._

_Of the Philosopher's Stone, the simple fact of the matter is that the Stone can be depleted. Eternal life lasteth only as long as there is a Stone to provide the Elixir, and death by non-natural causes is still possible. Not so with the Horcrux. Rather, the Horcrux is eternal, and its power can never be depleted._

_Of the Deathly Hallows, it can only be said that the legend may well be based in fact. Long ago, around the time at which Queen Mæve established her school in Ireland, there lived three brothers by the name of Peverell. Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus were immensely creative and powerful wizards, capable of great feats of magick. If the old færie tale is at all based in fact, it would be sensible for it to be based on these three brothers._

_Together these three items are rumoured to make the owner the Master of Death. But what that doth entail is a mystery. Not even when they were first created are the items said to have been united. It can be argued that the Wand granteth the ability to dispense death, the Stone the ability to recall the dead, and the Cloak the ability to evade death, but this argument leaveth the owner at even less advantage than doth the Philosopher's Stone._

_The so-called 'Master of Death' will die as any man dies, as early as any other man ordinarily dies._

_And once again, it all returneth to the Horcrux. As the only reliable way to earn immortality for any significant time, Horcrux magick can be trusted to preserve the life of the user. It merely taketh a sort of moral flexibility to master the art._

It was a vicious cycle, Harry realized, with little hope for a break amidst it. The book laid it out quite clearly; Philosophers stone would run out, you could be the so-called "master of death" with the supposed "hallows" but it would no more prolong a person's life than eating well would.

It appeared all roads really did lead to Rome. What more could Voldemort have asked for? Say you made more than one, it was a backup for your backup!

_The theory of the Horcrux doth begin with and end with the soul. It hath been noted that in order to create a Horcrux, one must tear the soul and then, in a precise ritual process, sevreth the portion that is to be encased from the main body of the soul._

_To tear the soul, it is necessary that the prospective creator of the Horcrux kill another being. It is through deliberate murder that the soul is torn, allowing for the future possibility of Horcrux magicks._

They were talking about murder. About killing another person, in order to rip your own soul to pieces. They were talking about rendering YOUR SOUL into a children's puzzle game.

This book contained SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS on how to go about doing such a thing, the incantation, the correct wand movements, pronunciation warnings, what the effects on your soul after killing a person should be, and the warning not to follow through with any of the proceedings lightly. That death was the outcome should someone desist after either the first step or the second to last step.

Finally at the bottom of the yellowing parchment page was a footnote that someone appeared to have hurriedly scrawled in as an afterthought.

_On unmaking a Horcrux, it was discovered about seven hundred years ago that the only way to mend a broken soul is to feel remorse for the actions that led to the creation of the Horcrux, to truly feel that what he hath done is wrong. The pain of it could easily kill any man who dareth to attempt it._

_Doing so, hath in fact, killed one of the two wizards to ever attempt this feat. For this reason, it is recommended that creating a Horcrux be reserved only for those who truly wish to pursue immortality and possess the moral strength to pursue that course of action guilt-free._

Was Voldemort truly this driven, truly this fanatic about living forever he would ever do something like this?

"For Merlin's sake, Tom!" Harry whispered, "Splitting your soul." there was pain in his voice, an utter horror that anyone would willingly choose to put their soul through this sort of monstrosity. He could only imagine the effects left on a person's psyche from doing such a thing.

There are physical changes associated with creating a Horcrux. The body seemeth to react to the absence of a portion of the soul and thus regresseth. Different Horcrux creators regress in different ways and in varying degrees of severity. Most simply appear slightly more fierce, taller, darker, or, in rare cases, more handsome. Some rare few, though, seem to become less human appearing.

Scholars in the field of Horcrux Magick believe that the body is transforming to become a physical representation of what the soul is, of what the person truly is in their heart of hearts.

Harry froze. His mind casting itself back to fourth year, getting awful flashes.

flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind

but worse, a hundred times worse.

crouched human child,

hairless, scaly-looking, a dark raw reddish black,

arms and legs thin and feeble

its face, its face no child alive ever had a face like that

flat and snake like with gleaming red eyes.

let it drown

please... let it have gone wrong...

please.. let it drown...

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry... and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils. Lord Voldemort.

hands like large, pale spiders

pupils were slits, like a cat's...

That... that awful night, that had been a physical representation of Voldemort's soul. Lurching from his seat in the library, Harry barely made it to the bathroom.

Throwing himself over the toilet, he retched. Sickness overtaking him in a cold sweat, heat seemed to flush his body, and emotional turmoil filled him. His throat felt like he'd swallowed a handful of broken glass, as though it had been HIS body to go through that. Like it was him feeling the awful pain.

But he could feel it. It was in his head, reverberating throughout the room in large gasping breaths. Tears ran down from emerald green eyes.

Why, why oh why?! Would anyone have ever chosen to do such a thing. It was VILE. HORRIBLE. He leaned back over the toilet, trying to breath.

Trying to think, to focus, to reassure himself that-that THAT wasn't what had happened, or THAT wasn't currently happening. He'd SEEN Voldemort he'd SEEN him, Tom didn't look like that anymore.

There was no snake face, no cat slit eyes, no more slits for nostrils. NO! nononono! He managed an awful laugh, Tom looked nothing like that.

Nothing like that anymore, an awful voice whispered in his head.

No, he told himself firmly. Tom was tall, with wavy black hair, he had an aquiline nose, he had pale skin yes, but nothing like that bone white he'd seen just a year ago. He wasn't skeletally thin, he had eyebrows, his lips were red not white, there were no scales. No scales, Tom's face had the signature aristocratic features Harry saw to be common among purebloods. He himself had them, from his father.

Tom was human. Not a monster... not a monster.

Talking to himself down, Harry wondered why'd he'd been so badly affected. It was his Gryffindor side, he concluded, hero complex and self sacrificing made it too easy to empathize with others.

Was is possible such a transformation had only been temporary? A minor (ok, major) side effect of the potion, I mean the potion had had several ingredients from Nagini. And she was a snake. By all other accounts Voldemort appeared to have taken on the characteristics of the other potential Horcrux side effects.

Fiercer, taller, darker.

Pushing himself to his feet, he paused in consideration, was it possible he was wrong? Possible that all this was simply a horrible coincidence, that Voldemort might have found some alternate way to attain immortality. That this Horcrux business was just... well phooey, total crap, and had never in fact been enacted by Voldemort.

He didn't even know if Tom had even read the book! There was only one solution, Harry mused, pushing himself up, and stumbling into the shower.

Dumbledore.

* * *

Did the man live at Hogwarts? Really what kind of teachers stayed there all year? Even Snape left for the summer.

"Hello, Harry my boy I must say this is quite the unexpected surprise." Dumbledore was twinkling again, and he really didn't like it.

"Hello Professor."

"Well, my boy what can I help you with?"

He'd keep it short, blunt and to the point.

"I want to talk about Horcruxes."

Dumbledore seemed to freeze, even his twinkling eyes went still.

"Excuse me, my boy? I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

Harry tossed the book on the Headmaster's desk, the one entitled: Secrets of the Darkest Art.

The man went ghostly pale.

M-my dear boy, where did you get that book? You might not have realized, Harry but it's quite a dark text for someone as young as yourself to be reading. For someone as young as you to read this could have terrible consequences."

Harry looked at him, green eyes piercingn.

"Did you say that to Tom Riddle as well?"

No reply.

"Did you Headmaster? Or did you turn your eyes the other way when he carried this around learning about horcruxes? Did you? Tell me, professor! TELL THE TRUTH!"

Dumbledore flinched back, as though Harry had struck him. It was all the confirmation he needed, he'd hit a nerve in that last sentence, something that had cracked the wizened wizard's mask enough for a tinge of the truth to leak out.

By Circe, Merlin, and Morgana! Tom had made HORCRUXES! he'd really done it! The bile rose in his throat again, but Harry let his anger fuel the fire, not the disgust and horror at what Dumbledore had allowed as he continued in his second demand.

I want you to tell me the prophecy."

Dumbledore managed to look surprised, and maybe relieved Harry had dropped the Horcrux topic. But, he noticed, the man's eyes were gleaming madly away.

"My dear child, I was under the impression that you found the prophecy immaterial."

Harry looked at Dumbledore, "Professor, according to the inscription on the prophecy you were the single witness to its foretelling. And I as one of the prophecy's subjects have the right to be privy to the information given about me."

"Well, Harry you would be correct, however you are not of age, and so those terms enacted by the Department's Unspeakables do not apply while you are underage."

He smirked, looking at the older man, wanting to see his reaction.

"But, Professor, surely you know I've been declared emancipated. I do assume it's a bit different in the muggle world, with you having to apply and everything. But I thought someone..." he sneered, "like you would have known that after the deaths or imprisonment of the wards guardians the ward is automatically declared emancipated and given full access to the guardians bank accounts and resources so that the child is not left penniless."

The man should know, Tom Riddle some decades earlier had done something similar, although that had included murder, and in Harry's opinion death was too kind for the Dursley's. They had deserved to suffer.

A stricken expression briefly crossed Dumbledore's features, before melting away into a look of deep sadness. Harry wasn't fooled, there was a storm brewing behind the man's ancient eyes.

"Harry, what have you done?" it was a question mean to incite guilt and shame, Harry didn't bother to try and fake some of it.

"Professor?" he questioned innocently, "I"ve merely done what you should have done years ago."

Dumbledore looked horror stricken.

"They're your family, Harry. Your relatives, your blood. How could you ever have turned your back on them?" his voice was hoarse.

"How? You ask me how Dumbledore? Perhaps I should explain it clearly to you; I exposed them. I showed those muggles all the vile little secrets they had. And I have to admit, it worked better than I could have hoped for. A little Forgetful Potion and forgot all about me. It was Harry Potter who? Best words I've ever heard in my life." he grinned viciously.

"I didn't use a single drop of magic, fitting as those people don't carry a single drop of it in their veins."

He tossed something onto Dumbledore's desk. A newspaper. A muggle newspaper with the headline: ENTIRE FAMILY CONVICTED.

The wizened wizard gave a minute gasp of horror.

Harry looked at him.

"I could bring you up on charges too you know. For refusing to part with information that I'm requesting, would you like that? Brought up before the new MINISTER," he spat at Dumbledore, "and see just who he rules in favor of?"

He was shaken, that much was obvious. Harry himself couldn't believe it. The man had simply ordered him to go home with his relatives and never bothered to check to see if he'd actually done it! It was unbelievable!

Harry doubted the Headmaster had even known the wards had fallen.

At the threat of bringing Dumbledore up on charges the man seemed to snap forward, some of his mask breaking at this blatant display of willfullness.

"You, a sixteen year old boy mean to enter a legal dispute with the Head of the Wizengamot, Surpreme Mugwump, and the wizard leading the charge of the International Confederation of Wizards! What would your friends say about this Harry? I know you may have grown apart from the young Mr. Wealsey and Miss Granger but what about Mr's. Fred and George Weasley? As I recall you were quite close this year."

The emerald eyed teen looked him in the eyes.

"No, no I don't. I Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and public Savior of the wizarding world mean to drag the FORMER Surpreme Mugwump's name through the mud in a very public legal battle. Really, Professor who do you believe will take your side in this debate after they examine my memories and see what the the people you left me with did to me? After they see the way you doped me up on potions for the past five years of my life? Do you think they'll be sympathetic? Understanding?"

He paused briefly to let Dumbledore see he was in no way messing around. If that's what it took, he would do it. He would drag himself through what would be a long and ardourus process; it that's what he had to do.

The Gryffindor wouldn't prefer to do it, he'd originally had something much more satisfying for Dumbledore in mind. After all the wizard was getting up there in age, and it wouldn't do for the man to die a martyr.

Light wizards loved a martyr.

"And as for Fred and George, maybe you should take a look a the Gryffindor qualities the hat spouts off every year; brave, courageous in the face of danger? Does righteous ring a bell? Fierce to protect their own? You of all people headmaster should realize what family means in the wizarding world, the Twins are my family, and family protects their own."

Even Dumbledore realized he'd lost, so with an imperceptible look of defeat the wizard rose from his seated position, and went over to the glass cabinet to the right of his desk.

It was the Pensieve that he'd fallen into during fourth year. Still swirling with memories that managed to spark Harry's attention and curiosity to an alarming degree. Dumbledore retrieved his wand, and began to swirl it in the shallow bowl's contents.

Until, finally drawing his wand away, Harry was clearly able to see a long strand of memory which gleamed silver in the dim light, slipping and crawling along the Headmaster's wand. It was bottled in seconds, and placed in Harry's hands moments later, where the fifteen year old barely restrained the urge to watch it there and then. Sirius had a Pensieve it would take mere seconds to dive in.

In fact Harry was just rising to leave when Snape burst through the doors panting as though he'd just run a mile in the sweltering heat. Only sparing Harry a single contemptuous glare the bat of the dungeons turned to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster... perhaps it would pertinent if we discussed a few matters alone." With the man covered in sweat, gasping for breath and practically leaning out the office's door Harry doubted Dumbledore would say no.

In fact, the elder man's grandfatherly persona was now plastered back on his face like slime on a blast ended skrewt.

"Of course Severus, Harry would you mind waiting for me to return? This shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Harry nodded reluctantly.

When they left through the main door Harry waited patiently as their foot steps trailed off until he couldn't hear them any longer.

The instant that happened the fifteen year old was up and out of his seat, sliding eagerly toward the still open Pensieve. This time retrieving his own wand and scooping copious amounts of the memory strands out at random; this was no time to be picky.

Then when he'd enlarged the bottle and filled it to the brim before slipping the newly acquired memories into his robes. An engorging charm later on the remaining memories and he was good to go.

Retrieving the two way porkey he was off. Disappearing in a flurry of sickening sensations that reminded the boy he'd been sick just a few hours before. He clipped the coffee table on impact, sending the Gryffindor boy reeling in pain onto the couch.

Collapsing onto the sofa, the emerald eyed boy shut his eyes firmly, thanking whatever deity was out there for letting him find the old emergency porkey in Sirius's room. He didn't want to think about the reason it had been there, but instead chose to be thankful for its existence.

"Accio Pensieve."

It was time to see what else Dumbledore had been hiding from him.

* * *

AN- Hello my wonderful lords and ladies! Thank you so much for reading this and I would love to thank each and every one of you for your reviews and PM's they've been simply marvelous!

Request: Please REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! So far I've almost broken eighty reviews! Yah!

IMPORTANT: The words in _italics_ are NOT MINE! They belong to a wonderful person called SaintRidley in the fanfic Secrets of the Darkest Art (which is absolute genius by the way). Much much thanks goes out to SaintRidley for the information.

Your friend in time,

*Kasamira


	8. Chapter 8: Conversation with a Minister

Disclaimer: Oh... was I supposed to say: not mine?

AN- Hello, my lovely lords and ladies. So... this is it... the big one, the one where Tommy throws away his inhibitions (wait I thought Harry did that!) and professes his undying love and adoration towards his one and and only true soulmate there is on this dry desolate war zone known as planet earth. (I heard wedding bells in the air, folks)

The one... the only!

Petter Pettigrew

I can hear all your minds right now: WTF! No I have not lost my mind, and NO (!) that will NEVER (I REPEAT: NEEEEVVVVEEERRRR) happen. Because that's just icky. I mean really who writes that. I mean if we want to go literally here, Voldemort (as a snake) and Pettigrew as a rat... how do you think that marriage would turn out. And that's ANOTHER thing! Tom can do SO much better! He may have an inferiority complex with purebloods but that DOES NOT MEAN he should undervalue himself.

REVEIW if you agree :)

* * *

Harry's dreams were filled with memories. Memories that took two forms; brilliant flashes that cut across his minds eye highlighted the past few hours. Whispers flooded every crevice, curling and settling themselves in the corners of his brain, and embedding their snares inside all the bungalows available. Soft wraiths whispering secrets into his ears, their lips like wispy black smoke.

"You're not welcome."

"...not welcome...not welcome..."

"Odgen...from the Ministry of Magic... serious breaking of wizarding law... your son Morfin, are you Marvolo Gaunt..."

"Private property... right to defend himself... busybodies... mudbloods... intruders..."

"Morfin has broken wizarding law." spoke Odgen, "and has been summoned-"

"Morfin has been summoned!" shrieked Marvolo in a high falsetto madly.

"-for a hearing, at the Min-"

"Summons!" shrieked Marvolo his voice blasting through three octaves, "Do you know who your talking to! You filthy Mudblood!"

A flicker of fear passed across Odgen's face, "Mr. Gaunt," he began waveringly.

"EXACTLY!" Marvolo hissed, his eyes sparkling with a mad sort of pleasure, before viciously shoving his hand toward Odgen, nearly taking the other's eye out.

"Se this? Do you SEE THIS?! Centuries! Centuries I tell you it's been in our family!" Gaunt let out a high pitched giggle that detracted from the seriousness of the moment, "That's how far we go back! And we've been pure all the way, too. PUREBLOODS! Nothing else! Peverell coat of arms engraved on it," Marvolo panted, continuing to shove the ring toward the other.

Once again the wraiths converged. The scene changing, becoming more grotesque and confusing.

A girl with lank hair cowering in the corner while another stood above her; cursing.

"Idiot girl! Disgusting Squib!"

And still another lay curled in a decrepit molding chair, hands curled possessively around an adder whispering to it.

"Hissy hissy little snakey, slither on the floor, you be good to Morfin, or he'll nail you to the door."

It was only then that Harry started, and began to regard the decrepit man with a heightened amount of wariness. Parseltongue. Harry's eyes instantly flashed around the hovel, and to the dead snake nailed to the door. Bile rose in his throat; these were his relatives, people who, by extension, had received the same gift he'd been given (albeit by birth); Slytherin would have been ashamed, Harry was ashamed.

"She watches him father, Merope watches that disgusting muggle Tom Riddle, likes looking at him," the boy leered at his sister, "in the garden watches him go past, hanging out the window for a glimpse."

Morfin's eyes were cruel, and his body gave off the aura of offness, it was a stink that surrounded him, a putrid sickly sweet smell that spoke of someone truly disturbed. The aura seemed to permeate the hovel and make Harry's hair stand on end. Matted with filth, the boy clearly took after his father Mr. Gaunt, and both appeared perfectly content terrorizing their sister and daughter respectively.

"My daughter- pureblooded descendant of Salzar Slytherin- pandering after a filthy, dirt-veined MUGGLE!" he roared, insults flying.

"Disgusting SQUIB!"

"Filthy muggle."

"Didn't look so pretty after I was done with him!"

"Blood traitor!"

"No daughter of mine!"

For a few blissful moments Harry was allowed room for contemplation. To think.

Marvolo Gaunt. The name seemed ignited something in Harry, a memory he had long wished to forget.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

I Am Lord Voldemort

A coincidence?

In his world there was no such thing.

These... these people (depending on how loosely you used the word) were Riddle's family. And closely related family if Harry was judging by the Muggle man he'd seen before. The muggle man who was nearly a carbon copy of Tom Marvolo Riddle himself. The girl Harry had seen in the kitchen, was... she was.

"Lord Voldemort's mother." The Dark Lord was a halfblood, an heir of Slytherin, the first in a line that had claimed to have been pure for over a thousand years. Clearly they hadn't been squeamish about inbreeding if the Gaunt families features and... rather curious behaviors were any indication. It was a miracle Tom was even somewhat sane.

* * *

It was a dark room.

A room filled with the sort of silence only a large amount of terror could cause. No bated breaths, no nervous swallowing, not even the soft rustle of robes. Every figure was held stock still.

"Do you doubt me, Abraxas?"

It was a man. Seated on a throne of ebony, and entangled in a large green serpent.

Nagini, Harry's mind supplied. It was Voldemort. The Dark Lord of a previous time sat before him, looking remarkably reminiscent to the one he'd met at the Ministry. Dark onyx black hair, sculpted aristocratic pale features, and deep blue eyes which appeared to be flecked with red. Long spidery fingers caresses Nagini's scales, drawing a delighted hiss from the creature. Several Death Eaters shuddered almost imperceptibly.

"No my lord, I merely question your... claim to the position you hold."

One would have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. It was stifling.

The Dark Lord displayed no reaction.

"Then I would assume, Abraxas- oh please forgive me for assuming." Voldemort's eyes glittered, "That you would propose a suitable... alternative."

Abraxas Malfoy was the picture of innocence.

"An alternative to yourself my lord? Never, I could never even consider the idea of being so bold. I myself would never dine to believe anything less of my lord, however some of the new recruits do not share the same assurances that the Inner Circle has been acquainted with."

"Then you wish for a demonstration." Voldemort concluded softly, stroking his companion with relish.

"Only if it would please, my lord." Abraxas was calm as ever, his head bent in submission, but Voldemort didn't need to see the man's eyes to witness the gleam of triumph concealed in their depths.

"Your assistance would be freely given then, Abraxas." It wasn't really a question. Malfoy had instituted this- no choice was provided.

"Of course my lord, any help I can provide would be given most willingly."

A cruel smile twisted the Dark Lord's lips.

"Then step forward, dear Abraxas." Voldemort's voice had taken on a faint hissing quality that seemed to endear him to his serpent familiar.

The room full of cloaked figures appeared to be leaning forward in anticipation of what was to come.

Malfoy stepped forward, closer to his lord.

And was felled with a minute movement of Tom Riddle's yew wand.

Not a flash of light escaped it, and Malfoy was pinned to the stone floor; eagle spread. With the yew instrument in hand Tom proceeded to give the Malfoy a cursory run down; a soft black glow began to emanate from the wand making it no easier to see in the pitch black darkness.

Finally the Dark Lord turned to his followers a vicious smile twisting his handsome features,

"You wished for a demonstration, correct."

It was only several minutes later, Harry realized what Voldemort had been doing, after the man had reached inside the Malfoy Patriarch's chest. After his body had glowed in a near invisible heat, and excluded a particular flavor in his magic that only Tom excluded that Harry understood.

It was like a vacuum, an encompassing hole that drained the oxygen from the large chamber, and stripped every breath from every lung.

A Horcrux. He felt the realization deep in his chest, and all disbelief he had previously felt was removed. No doubt left in the Gryffindor's mind; this was Dark Magic. Soul Magic, and nothing like it had felt the heat on its cracked tomes for over half a millennium.

* * *

There was a building. A building in a city that Harry was able to recognize as London, however this was a London far before his time. As the young Gryffindor observed his surroundings inside the Headmaster's memory, the boy came to realize that this was London; in the peak of the Jazz Age. Women walked all around him with bobbed hair and the men in sports gear; Harry could almost feel the speakeasies taking the money right out of his pocket.

The gate said: Stockwell Orphanage, and it was a grim square building which was surrounded by high railings. There were children outside, playing on the hard concrete inside the gate, and as Harry stepped forward, he recognized one.

"Billy!" a young girl shrieked, "I saw him, I saw him do it!" She was running toward another boy about her age, perhaps nine years old, pigtails flying, red in the face.

The boy in question, Billy, was curled up next to a tree; sobbing and pressing his face into a small stuffed rabbit. "Wh-wh-who, Betty?"

"It was that Riddle boy!" Betty exclaimed shrilly, eyes darting around conspicuously, "I know he did it, I know it!"

Billy, face still buried in the toy said piteously, "How do you know? I fou-found him... h-han-hanging from the-" the child's lip trembled, and more tears filled his already red eyes.

"Rafters." Betty finished for him in a whisper.

Billy sobbed harder, snot dripping down onto the bunny, "Tom never l-liked Chubbs- h-hated him, Betty! Said-said he pooped ever-everywhere and b-bite him."

"He's a sociopath!" exclaimed Betty definitively.

Her companion with Chubbs the rabbit was confused, "sio-scio- what's a socia-"

Betty sniffed, "I heard Mrs. Cole talking about it earlier. She said that Tom's possessed you know, said she's going to call the priest over again, said he'd set him straight. Said if it wasn't the devil making Tom the way he is, then he's sick in the head." she said as if every word coming from Mrs. Cole's mouth was sacred, then drew herself up importantly, "I looked it up, in the dictionary, and it's sociopath, Billy." the girl added admonishingly.

"Sociopath means: a person with a psychopathic personality whose behavior is antisocial, often criminal, and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience."

For the first time Billy looked up, squinting the little girl.

"Well what does that mean?"

* * *

It was burning. The air around him was on fire, and the masses situated between Harry and the fire weren't far better off either. They were in the midst of battle, a war was waging around him. People were falling at the hands of Blasting and Cutting Curses all around him, while Harry just stood there. Unable to help either side, and unable to prevent another loss of life.

With the chaos around him, Harry saw the world without the usual gold tint that memories seemed to contain, instead everything was painted red. It might have been because the people around him seemed to be using the world for bonfire kindling.

Harry wanted to say that it was poetic in nature. That every time one side took a life, their opponent took one of their own. That the red mist that covered his own vision belied on the certain victory of one army over the other.

Real life didn't work that way.

There was nothing poetic about the stench of blood that hung in the air, the smell of burning bodies that were still aware enough to feel the pain as flames licked their skin and mottled it with blisters.

But in the center of the madness was a single figure. A man sheathed in a black cloak, wielding a yew wand with all the fierceness of a Hungarian Horntail attacking its prey. His adversaries never stood a chance.

It was with a jolt of recognition Harry viewed the buildings before him; the orphanage, the very place Tom Riddle grew up was burning to the ground. And around it was a massacre of both Muggles and wizards alike each felled by blows from the two sides.

Voldemort at the forefront of his attack, leading the way; his yew wand like a whip. Standing contrary to him were two people Harry had never seen before. Aurors he assumed. They were all around him, battling their way through a sea of Death Eaters that never seemed to end. Struggling to save not only themselves but the Muggles who were entrapped in the ruins of the orphanage. And as the scene closed before him, with the orphanage going down to its last burning embers, Harry contemplated that no one seemed much too worried about magical secrecy.

* * *

"Please, my lord I beg of you." Desperate voices.

"My dear, Severus one should not grow so attached to those of... lesser birth."

"My lord, I-" Severus' voice was starting to crack from stress.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?" Voldemort's voice was silky.

"She's not a Mudblood, my lord!" Snape stammered out, eyes darting quickly around the room.

The Dark Lord rose, dropping Nagini unceremoniously onto his throne.

"Explain."

Snape finally seemed to regain his composure.

"Should I be able to prove she isn't of lesser blood descent would it be acceptable for you to spare her?"

The Dark Lord was amused, this child was trying to negotiate when he had nothing to bargain with. Lily Potter would never join him, the girl had grown up mocked and humiliated by those purebloods at her school. Why would she have ever given into them now that she was considered worthy of their attention.

"Of course Severus, should it prove possible I would always choose the preservation of wizarding-and witch kind. Should Mrs. Lily Potter provide me with the option I would gladly spare her life." Voldemort looked at his servant speculatively.

"Perhaps you deserve some leniency after providing the intel of the... prophecy to me, it was only through your endeavors Severus that I was able to arrange this visit to the Potter family. Though I do confess myself curious Severus... do you wish to bestow the same leniency upon Mr. James Potter?"

For the first time during their meeting Snape met his eyes.

"That will not be necessary, my lord."

* * *

A courtroom. A stone floor. A Minister. A jury of executioners. A long line of people waiting for their death sentence.

"Madam Bellatrix Lestrange, charged on the torture and murder of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Do you deny these crimes."

The woman he was addressing was the not Bellatrix Lestrange that Harry knew. She held herself with dignity and contempt addressed at her surroundings, there was less madness in her eyes. Some was still there but nothing to the degree Harry knew would emerge in the next few years. This was pre-Azkaban Bella, the one who had just tortured and murdered Neville's parents with her husband before killing them.

It was with pride she addressed them.

"No, I do not."

The man in charge seemed to start, as if her words were something unexpected, but then continued without pause.

"Then on the charges of murder of torture with the use of the Unforgivable Curses we find you, Bellatrix Lestrange guilty and sentence you to a life term in prison for every unforgivable cast."

A slam of the gavel. No lawyers, no jury, no evidence, no witness for the defense, no prosecution.

Guilty by admission.

That was how it went. Every single Death Eater that Harry saw sentenced went with the Aurors to the Dementors with quiet dignity and pride. Not a single one was afraid to die for their lord.

* * *

"I want you, Harry."

Harry jolted up, eyes flying open, trying to dispel the wraiths that had invaded his sleep, and to get rid of the memories he'd endured.

Before him sat a man he'd been waiting to see.

"I want you at my side."

"Is that an offer?"

Before him sat the Minister for Magic, encased in a black robes that were tighter fitting than the ones normally seen on people. The Dark Lord was set for battle.

"Would you accept one?" By this point Harry wasn't sure if Voldemort was toying with him or if it was the other way around.

Tom sat before him, questioning him. Questioning his morals, his ethics, what he was willing to do.

"What do you want from me?" it seemed like a redundant question.

Tom Riddle stared at him. It was a simple question, one that demanded a simple response. This was no time for speeches, Tom knew that Harry didn't need or want one because he'd been forced to listen through far too many and had probably given quite a few of his own.

"I want you at my side."

Harry looked at him. Testing.

"You want the Boy-Who-Lived to stand by you?"

But Tom was no fool, laying there in front of him. In Sirius' old bedroom, the walls littered with pictures of muggle girls in bikinis, was perfectly content on the chaise, twirling his elegant yew wand between long pianists fingers.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," the man spoke chidingly, "Here I sit, extending to you a life line while you tread water in shark infested waters. Would questioning my motives truly be in your best interest?"

"That would depend, Tom." enjoying the way Riddle's eyes lit softly with rage," On whether my 'best interests' are in the forefront of your mind."

"My dear, Mr. Potter you are on dangerous ground, you should be thanking me on bended knee for this offer." Tom gestured toward himself as if showing Harry the ground where he should be kneeling at exclaiming his thanks.

Harry smiled, rising from his position on the bed towards Tom, moving gracefully. Then he knelt at the chaise, at Tom's feet.

"Is this what you wanted, Tom? Me kneeling before you, taking you up on that bargain, and staying here, at your feet as a Death Eater?"

Dark eyes watched him, the emotions shining through somewhere between shock and pleasure and wariness.

"Yes." A single word, said with so much sincerity it left both of them reeling.

From his position on the floor, Harry leaned in, emerald eyes observing the other boldly.

"You're lying." Reaching up a hand Harry snaked it through Tom's hair, jerking his face viciously closer.

"You HATE this! You don't want me at your feet, kissing your robes like those other sycophant trash. You want a challenge, someone who will push you and then push you harder. You don't want someone to play with... you've had that for far too long, it's tiresome. Boring. You don't want someone so easily won over to the dark by a few of your tricks and a few cunning words. You, want a challenge."

Finally... FINALLY Tom reacted. Shoving backwards at him, with a strength Harry wouldn't have expected. Pinned against the wall, with Tom's wand at his throat in a death grip. No more games.

"You've thought too highly of yourself, Harry. If you are correct, and it's a challenge I want, what makes you worthy of my attention?"

For the first time since seeing Tom, Harry smiled.

And spoke, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." he stopped.

Looked into Tom's blue eyes, "Finish it," the man ordered. There was need in the other's face, tightening the edges of his countenance and pushing his aristocratic features into harsh relief. Desperation was an emotion Harry was quite familiar with.

Wand at his throat, the emerald boy leaned in close, "No." he whispered.

Insurmountable rage spilled over, the kind of anger that's had fifteen years to brew up inside a person.

"Crucio!"

Knives pierced him. White hot pokers stabbed through skin and muscle and bone. Sinewy tendons were being methodically dissected with blades coated in salt. In the same instant he was both being roasted alive with a spit inside and having his frostbitten body suck in arctic water. It immersed him, going down his throat, his nose and into Harry's lungs; drowning. He'd never imagined it to be so painful.

When it all stopped Harry was acutely aware of just how easily one could go insane from such treatment. Having such an intimate experience with that spell was not something he would wish upon anyone. Those sort of relationships were abusive at best.

Opening his eyes, the Gryffindor found he'd changed positions, though the situation had not changed. Apparently Voldemort had felt the wall to be too comfortable for Harry, and had transferred him to the floor instead.

"That hurt. I don't take kindly to people hurting me any longer."

Tom's eyes glittered. They didn't stay that way for very long.

Harry's hand shot forward, going past the other's resistance, and gripping Tom's throat. In a matter of seconds their positions were reversed. But this time it was with magic that the other was held down, Tom's wrists pinned to his sides, body trembling and anger rolling off in waves with the need to be free.

That same iciness was filling him, the kind he'd felt after Bella had killed Sirius, nothing like the righteous anger he'd felt at Luna's tormentors.

A pinprick of light lit his wand, and he spun it in his fingers, twirling the enchanted piece of wood just as the Minister had been doing moments before.

"Do you remember what I did to Bella at the Ministry, Tom?" it was no question.

"Then you know I can hurt you, I can and I will. Isn't that the way you operate? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. You hurt me, I should get even. Make you hurt in return." he placed twin hands on either side of his captive's head, and leaned down until Harry's lips brushed up against Tom's ear.

"You asked what made me special, why I deserved a place at your side instead of at your feet. I'm surprised the conclusion didn't reach you, Tom. You're a smart boy, playing dumb doesn't suit you."

The Minister thrashed, a single hand breaking the bonds that held it and gripping his wrist.

"I can kill you. That, is why I'm special. I'm the one with the power the Dark Lord knows not. Would you really kill me? The single person who could stand against you; toe to toe, we're equals, Tom. Compatable, and volatile. I could kill you... you could kill me. I'm a Gryffindor danger attracts me."

A smile curled around the Dark Lord's lips, "You're nothing other than a Slytherin, Harry. A little serpent just coming into adulthood. But you're right, child. What's life without a little danger."

It was in that moment he broke his bonds, and was set free.

* * *

(And Harry opened emerald green eyes that were shining with triumph)

AN- so my lovely lords and ladies I cannot tell you how many times I've rewritten this chapter, scrapping ideas and staring into my 6th Harry Potter book like a maniac. Hurridly flipping through pages trying to find the appropriate inspiration, I was up til two thirty last night trying to find the write words to make this flow. But finally I got it in the end, I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

P.S. The Voldemort and Harry conversation took place in his mind, just wanted to clarify that.

P.S.S. My sister's probably going to kill me, so if I don't update in the next... well EVER you peoples know who did it! (She wants me to watch some trailer for some horror film, and said she wasn't leaving until I swore on my life I would watch it. I told her to shut up and go away. She said I was cranky. I said and I quote, "FINE I"l watch it as soon as I post this chapter!" end quote

Your friend in time,

*Kasamira


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